That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech.

Just as old age is creeping on space, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company--the gout or stone.

A celebrity is one who is known to many persons he is glad he doesn't know.

I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell. But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.

Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.