Sin We Have Explain'd Away; Unluckily, The

Soul's Castle Fell At One Blast Of Temptation, But Many A Worm Had Pierced The Foundation.

Not Like Homer Would I Write, Not Like Dante If I Might, Not Like Shakespeare At His Best, Not Like Goethe Or The Rest, Like Myself, However Small, Like Myself, Or Not At All.

I Believe In Success, And In Comfort No Less I Believe All The Rest Is But Patter.

The Mother's Kiss Is The Sweetest Thing Ever.

Oh, Bring Again My Heart's Content, Thou Spirit Of The Summer-time!