Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were; First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?

I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.

What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.

Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.

A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover - but will sooner or later find a tyrant.

The music, and the banquet, and the wine-- The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments-- The white arms and the raven hair--the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not.

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years.