She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

Exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year.

A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think.

I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery.

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night!

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.