The devil was the first democrat
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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.
No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.