Youth Smiles Without Any Reason. It Is

There Are Certain Scenes That Would Awe An Atheist Into Belief, Without The Help Of Other Argument.

And Truth Severe, By Fairy Fiction Drest.

The Language Of The Age Is Never The Language Of Poetry, Except Among The French, Whose Verse, Where The Thought Or Image Does Not Support It, Differs In Nothing From Prose.

As To Posterity, I May Ask What Has It Ever Done To Oblige Me?

Sweet Is The Breath Of Vernal Shower,/ The Bee's Collected Treasure Sweet,/ Sweet Music's Melting Fall, But Sweeter Yet/ The Still Small Voice Of Gratitude.