There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.

O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look; O let me for one moment touch her wrist; Let me one moment to her breathing list; And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.

O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!

My chest of books divide amongst my friends.

I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.

Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.

There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.