Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.

In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.

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

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.

No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.

Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.

The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.