Oh What Fools We Mortals Are.

When He Is Best, He Is A Little Worse Than A Man; And When He Is Worst, He Is Little Better Than A Beast.

Faster Than Spring-time Showers Comes Thought On Thought.

Were It My Cue To Fight, I Should Have Known It Without A Prompter.

What Is Light, If Sylvia Be Not Seen? What Is Joy If Sylvia Be Not By?

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.