And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.
I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.
For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.
I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.
A drop of ink may make a million think.