Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?.

We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.

Love rules the camp, the court, the grove - for love is Heaven, and Heaven is love.

Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.

For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.

The devil was the first democrat