A Hope Beyond The Shadow Of A

Nothing Is Finer For The Purposes Of Great Productions Than A Very Gradual Ripening Of The Intellectual Powers.

When I Have Fears That I May Ceace To Be, Before My Pen Has Gleaned My Teaming Brain".

When The Melancholy Fit Shall Fall Sudden From Heaven Like A Weeping Cloud, That Fosters The Droop-headed Flowers All, And Hides The Green Hill In An April Shroud; Then Glut Thy Sorrow On A Morning Rose.

Pleasure Is Oft A Visitant; But Pain Clings Cruelly To Us.

What Is More Gentle Than A Wind Is Summer?