Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell; aspiring to be angels men rebel.

We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow. Our wiser sons, no doubt will think us so.

Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

A family is but too often a commonwealth of malignants.

Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, their beauty withered, and their verdure lost!

I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.