They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness.
Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.
There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee