Date: 1793

"Milton had perhaps wandered in the fields of fancy, and consoled his blindness with listening to the voice of his nation, that was to have resounded with his name."

— Disraeli, Isaac (1766-1848)

Date: 1795

"Even there the passions reign; but they rove through the mind like murmuring, winds through barren and gloomy regions."

— Yearsley, Ann (bap. 1753, d. 1806)

Date: February 2, 1796

"Her head's like the island, folks tell on, / Which nothing but monkies can dwell on"

— Hoare, Prince (1755-1834)

Date: 1797

"Light of the world, whose cheering ray / Illumes the realms of mind"

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1812

The realms of mind are ruled by shades

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: November 10, 1813

"I by no means rank poetry or poets high in the scale of intellect. This may look like affectation, but it is my real opinion. It is the lava of the imagination whose eruptions prevents an earthquake."

— Byron, George Gordon Noel, sixth Baron Byron (1788-1824)

Date: 1814

"No single passion, and no ruling thought / That leaves the rest, as once, unseen, unsought, / But the wild prospect when the Soul reviews, / All rushing through their thousand avenues"

— Byron, George Gordon Noel, sixth Baron Byron (1788-1824)

Date: w. 1798-1800, 1814

"Not Chaos, not / The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, / Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out / By help of dreams--can breed such fear and awe / As fall upon us often when we look / Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man-- / My haunt, and the main region of my song."

— Wordsworth, William (1770-1850)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

One may try "Conjecture's trackless region round, / To judge what phantasms Fancy might have found-- / What Game the glances of her Hawks might trace, / Or Greyhounds view in visionary chace"

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

Ideas are "like the silent Snows, by Winter spread, / In silvery treasures, o'er the mountain's head; / Whose stores, while undisturb'd, each hour decay, / And hue, form, substance, quickly waste away; / But stirr'd, by winds, like words, with action strong, /Each sphere enlarges as it rolls alon...

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)