Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow claspest the limits of mortality.

The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.

To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light,The night is good; because, my love,They never say good-night.

Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.

The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark--now glittering--now reflecting gloom-- Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings.

Poetry, in a general sense, may be defined to be 'the expression of the imagination': and poetry is connate with the origin of man.

It is found easier, by the short-sighted victims of disease, to palliate their torments by medicine, than to prevent them by regimen