It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.