If poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree it had better not come at all. - John Keats

t this is human life: the war, the deeds,
The disappointment, the anxiety,
Imagination's struggles, far and nigh,
All human; bearing in themselves this good,
That they are still the air, the subtle food,
To make us feel existence, and to shew
How quiet death is.

"When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain".

Stop and consider! life is but a day;
A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
From a tree's summit.