And How They Kist Each Other's Tremulous

Music's Golden Tongue Flatter'd To Tears This Aged Man And Poor.

I Never Can Feel Certain Of Any Truth, But From A Clear Perception Of Its Beauty.

If Something Is Not Beautiful, It Is Probably Not True.

Neither Poetry, Nor Ambition, Nor Love Have Any Alertness Of Countenance As They Pass By Me.

Parting They Seemed To Tread Upon The Air, Twin Roses By The Zephyr Blown Apart Only To Meet Again More Close.