Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.

Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.

I've watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!

A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.

But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?