If A Faultless Poem Could Be Produced,

The Rose Is Fairest When 't Is Budding New, And Hope Is Brightest When It Dawns From Fears. The Rose Is Sweetest Wash'd With Morning Dew, And Love Is Loveliest When Embalm'd In Tears.

The Heart-sick Faintness Of The Hope Delayed!

One Or Two Of These Scoundrel Statesmen Should Be Shot Once A-year, Just To Keep The Others On Their Good Behavior.

For Love Will Still Be Lord Of All.

But Search The Land Of Living Men, Where Wilt Thou Find Their Like Again?