There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.

I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all like an opera.

Swift has sailed into his rest; Savage indignation there Cannot lacerate his breast Imitate him if you dare, World-besotted traveler; he Served human liberty.

Time can but make her beauty over again.

If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.

You that would judge me, do not judge alone this book or that, come to this hallowed place where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon; Ireland's history in their lineaments trace; think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was I had such friends.