She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.

Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!

A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;- Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.

To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.