I Have Taken Pride In Others, Never

How Quick The Old Woe Follows A Little Bliss!

Who Over-refines His Argument Brings Himself To Grief

What Name To Call Thee By, O Virgin Fair, I Know Not, For Thy Looks Are Not Of Earth And More Than Mortal Seems Thy Countenances

When The Poet Died His Cat Was Put To Death And Mummified.

Books Can Warm The Heart With Friendly Words And Counsel, Entering Into A Close Relationship With Us Which Is Articulate And Alive