None But The Brave Deserve The Fair.

Who Climbs The Grammar-tree, Distinctly Knows Where Noun, And Verb, And Participle Grows.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.

Heroic Poetry Has Ever Been Esteemed The Greatest Work Of Human Nature.

Never Was Patriot Yet, But Was A Fool.

You See Through Love, And That Deludes Your Sight, As What Is Straight Seems Crooked Through The Water.