Nor Love Thy Life, Nor Hate; But

Ease Would Recant Vows Made In Pain, As Violent And Void.

From Morn To Noon He Fell, From Noon To Dewy Eve,- A Summer's Day; And With The Setting Sun Dropp'd From The Zenith Like A Falling Star.

Solitude Sometimes Is Best Society.

Smiles From Reason Flow, To Brute Deny'd, And Are Of Love The Food.

Sweetest Echo, Sweetest Nymph, That Liv'st Unseen Within Thy Airy Shell, By Slow Meander's Margent Green, And In The Violet-embroidered Vale.