My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.

The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August

He was a man of his times. with one virtue and a thousand crimes. (The Corsair)

Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!

Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.

Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.

And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.