Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss. - John Keats

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

Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

I begin to get a little acquainted with my own strength and weakness. Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.