Thought would destroy their paradise.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
We frolic while 'tis May.
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.