The fact is that my wife if she had common sense would have more power over me than any other whatsoever, for my heart always alights upon the nearest perch.
No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.
Poetry should only occupy the idle.
I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.