Society Is Now One Polished Horde, Formed

Ye Stars! Which Are The Poetry Of Heaven!

Christians Have Burnt Each Other, Quite Persuaded. That All The Apostles Would Have Done As They Did.

If I Could Always Read, I Should Never Feel The Want Of Company.

Above Or Love, Hope, Hate Or Fear, It Lives All Passionless And Pure: An Age Shall Fleet Like Earthly Year; Its Years In Moments Shall Endure. Away, Away, Without A Wing, O'er All, Through All, Its Thought Shall Fly; A Nameless And Eternal Thing, Forgetting What It Was To Die.

Parting Day Dies Like The Dolphin, Whom Each Pang Imbues With A New Colour As It Gasps Away, The Last Still Loveliest, Till-'t Is Gone, And All Is Gray.