Wisdom married to immortal verse.
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
The unconquerable pang of despised love.
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude