On this hapless earth There ’s small sincerity of mirth, And laughter oft is but an art To drown the outcry of the heart. - Hartley Coleridge

Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are.

Now, we are agreed, I and my destinies. The total world, — Above, below, whate'er is seen or known, And all that men, and all that gods enact, Hopes, fears, imaginations, purposes; With joy, and pain, and every pulse that beats In the great body of the universe, I give to the eternal sisterhood, To make my peace withal! And cast this husk, This hated, mangled, and dishonour'd carcase Into the balance; so have I redeem'd My proper birthright, even the changeless mind, The imperishable essence uncontroll'd.

The soul of man is larger than the sky, Deeper than ocean, or the abysmal dark Of the unfathomed center. Like that ark, Which in its sacred hold uplifted high, O'er the drowned hills, the human family, And stock reserved of every living kind, So, in the compass of the single mind, The seeds and pregnant forms in essence lie, That make all worlds. Great poet, 'twas thy art To know thyself, and in thyself to be Whate'er Love, Hate, Ambition, Destiny, Or the firm, fatal purpose of the Heart Can make of Man. Yet thou wert still the same, Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame.