Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are

She Is Mine Own, And I As Rich In Having Such A Jewel As Twenty Seas, If All Their Sand Were Pearl, The Water Nectar, And The Rocks Pure Gold.

Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever Thrust To The Walls.

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.

The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention Like Deep Harmony.

Despair And Die. The Ghosts