A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.
A quiet conscience makes one so serene.
There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.