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He ate and drank the precious words,His spirit grew robust;He knew no more that he was poor,Nor that his frame was dust.He danced along the dingy days...more

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PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.

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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all.

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I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

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There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands awayNor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry – This Traverse may the poorest takeWithout oppre...more

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A precious, mouldering pleasure ’t is To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think.

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The Soul selects her own Society.

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THE soul should always stand ajar, That if the heaven inquire,He will not be obliged to wait, Or shy of troubling her.Depart, before the host has slid...more