When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.
Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.
Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.
As poetry is the harmony of words, so music is that of notes.