Opinions are made to be changed or how is truth to be got at?

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.

So much alarmed that she is quite alarming

The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears.

Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment.