But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.

O fleeting joys Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!

They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.

Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.

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.

Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.

A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses