In A Bowl To Sea Went Wise

My Thoughts By Night Are Often Filled With Visions False As Fair: For In The Past Alone, I Build My Castles In The Air.

Time Is Lord Of Thee: Thy Wealth, Thy Glory, And Thy Name Are His.

The Mountain Sheep Are Sweeter, But The Valley Sheep Are Fatter. We Therefore Deemed It Meeter To Carry Off The Latter.

Laughter Is Pleasant, But The Exertion At My Age Is Too Much For Me.

The Truth, I Am Convinced, Is That There Is No Longer A Poetical Audience Among The Higher Class Of Minds, That Moral, Political, And Physical Science Have Entirely Withdrawn From Poetry The Attention Of All Whose Attention Is Worth Having; And That The Poetical Reading Public Being Composed Of The Mere Dregs Of The Intellectual Community, The Most Sufficing Passport To Their Favour Must Rest On The Mixture Of A Little Easily-intelligible Portion Of Mawkish Sentiment With An Absolute Negation Of Reason And Knowledge.