Come What May, I Have Been Blest.

Next To Dressing For A Rout Or Ball, Undressing Is A Woe.

When We Two Parted In Silence And Tears, Half Broken-hearted, To Sever For Years.

Frienship Is Eros...without Wings

From The Mingled Strength Of Shade And Light A New Creation Rises To My Sight, Such Heav'nly Figures From His Pencil Flow, So Warm With Light His Blended Colors Glow. . . . . The Glowing Portraits, Fresh From Life, That Bring Home To Our Hearts The Truth From Which They Spring.

The Simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, Both By Precept And Example, Shows / That Prose Is Verse, And Verse Is Merely Prose.