Deathless laurel is the victor's due.
Seas are the fields of combat for the winds; but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun, Is Nature's eye.
But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.
Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.
When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.