The Devil Hath Not, In All His

I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received; We Have Enough Within Us The Meanest Vassal As The Loftiest Monarch, Not To Add To Each Other's Natural Burden Of Mortal Misery.

And What Is Writ Is Writ - / Would It Were Worthier!

My Beautiful, My Own My Only Venice-this Is Breath! Thy Breeze Thine Adrian Sea-breeze, How It Fans My Face! Thy Very Winds Feel Native To My Veins, And Cool Them Into Calmness!

There's Not A Joy The World Can Give Like That It Takes Away.

The Niobe Of Nations! There She Stands.