Wisdom married to immortal verse.
A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
The vision and the faculty divine; Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?