Beautiful as sweet, And young as beautiful, and soft as young, And gay as soft, and innocent as gay!

As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.

Let no man trust the first false step of guilt; it hangs upon a precipice, whose steep descent in last perdition ends.

The purpose firm is equal to the deed

Wonder is involuntary praise.

Mine is the night, with all her stars.

Not all the pride of beauty; Those eyes, that tell us what the sun is made of; Those lips, whose touch is to be bought with life; Those hills of driven snow, which seen are felt: All these possessed are nought, but as they are The proof, the substance of an inward passion, And the rich plunder of a taken heart.