A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.
I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell!
As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.
Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end.
Till taught by pain, men know not water's worth.
Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf.