As winds come whispering lightly from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

Old man! 'Tis not difficult to die.

Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

What an antithetical mind! - tenderness, roughness - delicacy, coarseness - sentiment, sensuality - soaring and groveling, dirt and deity - all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay!

Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!

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