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THERE is no frigate like a book/ To take us lands away...

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Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.

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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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A precious, mouldering pleasure 't isTo meet an antique bookIn just the dress his century wore;A privilege, I think,His venerable hand to take,And war...more

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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.