Earth has not anything to show more fair.
Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.
The unconquerable pang of despised love.
Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.