“The grave, where sets the orb of being, sets To rise, ascend, and culminate above Eternity’s horizon evermore.”

The weary Body, longing for repose, On the gained level of the day’s ascent, Halts for the night and pitches there its tent.

Taking our stand on the immovable rock of Christ’s character we risk nothing in saying that the wine of miracle answered to the wine of nature, and was not intoxicating.

None of the prophets old, So lofty or so bold! No form of danger shakes his dauntless breast; In loneliness sublime

Be every bar, and every star, Displayed in full and glorious manner! Blow, zephyrs, blow, keep the dear ensign flying! Blow, zephyrs, sweetly mournful, sighing, sighing, sighing!

Who has not seen that feeling born of flame Crimson the cheek at mention of a name?

We hail the return of the day of thy birth, Fair Columbia! washed by the waves of two oceans Where men from the farthest dominions of earth Rear altars to Freedom, and pay their devotions;

True love is humble, thereby is it known; Girded for service, seeking not its own; Vaunts not itself, but speaks in self-dispraise.

With dazzling pomp descending angels sung Good will and peace to men, to God due praise, Who on the errand of salvation sent

Fling out, fling out, with cheer and shout, To all the winds of Our Country’s Banner!

The power, which in a sense belongs to none, Thus understood belongs to every one.

Death separates, but it also unites. It reunites whom it separates.

Where our fathers in fight, nobly strove for the Right, Struck down their fierce foemen or put them to flight

Words are freeborn, and not the vassals of the gruff tyrants of prose to do their bidding only. They have the same right to dance and sing as the dewdrops have to sparkle and the stars to shine.

Let us not doubt that God has a father’s pity towards us, and that in the removal of that which is dearest to us He is still loving and kind.

Poetry is unfallen speech. Paradise knew no other, for no other would suffice to answer the need of those ecstatic days of innocence.

O most illustrious of the days of time! Day full of joy and benison to earth When Thou wast born, sweet Babe of Bethlehem!

Happiness is impossible for longer than 15 minutes. We are the descendants of creatures who, above all else, worried.

It certainly is gravy every day above ground right now, after kicking that heroin habit.

In [The New Poetry] I had attacked the British poets’ nervous preference for gentility above all else, and their avoidance of the uncomfortable, destructive truths both of the inner life and of the present time.

To experience poetry is to see over and above reality. It is to discover that which is beyond the physical, to experience another life and another level of feeling.

The more his character, by rising above material contingencies, widen, become free and independent.

When diving to attack always leave a proportion of your formation above to act as top guard.

Thanks be to God, not–only for ‘rivers of endless joys above, but for ‘rills of comfort here below.’

Desire nothing except desirelessness. Hope for nothing except to rise above all hopes. Want nothing and you will have everything.