Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry.
Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal.
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
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 Niobe of nations! there she stands.