Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn.
Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds; The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
Solitude sometimes is best society.
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