Land Of Lost Gods And Godlike Men.

Oh, Talk Not To Me Of A Name Great In Story; The Days Of Our Youth Are The Days Of Our Glory; And The Myrtle And Ivy Of Sweet Two-and-twenty Are Worth All Your Laurels, Though Ever So Plenty.

Grief Is Fantastical, And Loves The Dead, And The Apparel Of The Grave.

Yet Truth Will Sometimes Lend Her Noblest Fires, And Decorate The Verse Herself Inspires: This Fact, In Virtue's Name, Let Crabbe Attest,- Though Nature's Sternest Painter, Yet The Best.

Most Glorious Night! Thou Wert Not Sent For Slumber!

Oh Who Can Tell, Save He Whose Heart Hath Tried.