In listening mood she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.
Nothing is more completely the child of art than a garden.
...crystal and hearts would lose all their merit in the world if it were not for their fragility.
O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.
If a faultless poem could be produced, I am satisfied it would tire the critics themselves; and annoy the whole reading world with the spleen.