A Little Noiseless Noise Among The Leaves,

I Do Think Better Of Womankind Than To Suppose They Care Whether Mister John Keats Five Feet High Likes Them Or Not.

It Keeps Eternal Whisperings Around Desolate Shores

Much Have I Traveled In The Realms Of Gold, And Many Goodly States And Kingdoms Seen.

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?

There Is Not A Fiercer Hell Than The Failure In A Great Object.