Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!

Let observation with extended observation observe extensively.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.

O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.

For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Better not be at all than not be noble.

Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?