Let joy be unconfined.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.

But every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,-- Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

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.