Keep Thy Smooth Words And Juggling Homilies

I Was Accused Of Every Monstrous Vice By Public Rumour And Private Rancour; My Name, Which Had Been A Knightly Or Noble One, Was Tainted. I Felt That, If What Was Whispered, And Muttered, And Murmured, Was True, I Was Unfit For England; If False, England Was Unfit For Me.

They Never Fail Who Die In A Great Cause.

Between Two Worlds Life Hovers Like A Star, Twixt Night And Morn, Upon The Horizon's Verge.

Poetry Should Only Occupy The Idle.

The Cold, The Changed, Perchance The Dead, Anew, The Mourn'd, The Loved, The Lost,-too Many, Yet How Few!