If Ancient Tales Say True, Nor Wrong

The Music, And The Banquet, And The Wine-- The Garlands, The Rose Odors, And The Flowers, The Sparkling Eyes, And Flashing Ornaments-- The White Arms And The Raven Hair--the Braids, And Bracelets; Swan-like Bosoms, And The Necklace, An India In Itself, Yet Dazzling Not.

I Have Not Loved The World, Nor The World Me.

Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The Fatal Gift Of Beauty.

Despair And Genius Are Too Oft Connected

Where Are The Forms The Sculptor's Soul Hath Seized? In Him Alone, Can Nature Show As Fair?