Must I thus leave thee, Paradise?-thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades?

Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.

Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

At His birth a star, unseen before in heaven, proclaims Him come.

The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil; Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.