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?

Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!

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

There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave.

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

One hates an author that's all author.

Life is too short for chess.