The Busy Have No Time For Tears.

When We Two Parted In Silence And Tears, Half Broken-hearted, To Sever For Years.

Shakespeare's Name, You May Depend On It, Stands Absurdly Too High And Will Go Down.

Shelley Is Truth Itself And Honour Itself Notwithstanding His Out-of-the-way Notions About Religion.

Oh That The Desert Were My Dwelling-place, With One Fair Spirit For My Minister

Oh, Nature's Noblest Gift, My Grey Goose Quill, Slave Of My Thoughts, Obedient To My Will, Torn From The Parent Bird To Form A Pen, That Mighty Instrument Of Little Men.