One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name
Mystery has great charms for womanhood.
What skilful limner e'er would choose To paint the rainbow's varying hues, Unless to mortal it were given To dip his brush in dyes of heaven?
When thinking about companions gone, we feel ourselves doubly alone.
He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit.
I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.