Pure Friendship's Well-feigned Blush.

The Heart Ran O'er With Silent Worship Of The Great Of Old!-- The Dead, But Sceptred Sovereigns, Who Still Rule Our Spirits From Their Urns.

Why Do They Call Me Misanthrope? Because They Hate Me, Not I Them.

'twas Strange That One So Young Should Thus Concern His Brain About The Action Of The Sky; If You Think 'twas Philosophy That This Did, I Can't Help Thinking Puberty Assisted.

This Quiet Sail Is As A Noiseless Wing To Waft Me From Distraction.

Love Will Find A Way Through Paths Where Wolves Fear To Prey.