Among unequals what society Can sort, what harmony, or true delight?

And feel that I am happier than I know.

The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train.

Ink is the blood of the printing-press.

For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.