Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand; I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.

In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee

I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff- box from an emperor.

In general I do not draw well with literary men -- not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication.

The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.