None merits the name of Creator but God and the poet.
A friend giveth sympathy in trouble.
He, full of bashfulness and truth, loved much, hoped little, and desired naught.
O subtle love! a thousand wiles thou hast, by humble suit, by service, or by hire, to win a maiden's hold,--a thing soon done, for nature framed all women to be won.
Grave was the man in years, in looks, in word, his locks were grey, yet was his courage green.
As shaking terrors from his blazing hair, a sanguine comet gleams through dusky air.