Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!

I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

There is pleasure in the pathless woods.

So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry.

Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years in moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.

It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe; you might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep.

I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?