With living colours give my verse to glow

High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.

Again she plunges! hark! a second shock Bilges the splitting vessel on the rock; Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries, The fated victims shuddering cast their eyes In wild despair; while yet another stroke With strong convulsion …

Thou living ray of intellectual fire.

The sacred lamp of day Now dipt in western clouds his parting ray.

The language of poetry is the only speech which has in it the power of permanent impression

Every poet is partly creator and partly the creature of circumstances.