Solitude Sometimes Is Best Society.

Swinish Gluttony Never Looks To Heaven Amidst Its Gorgeous Feast; But With Besotted, Base Ingratitude, Cravens And Blasphemes His Feeder.

Come And Trip It As Ye Go On The Light Fantastic Toe.

Oft, On A Plat Of Rising Ground, I Hear The Far-off Curfew Sound Over Some Wide-watered Shore, Swinging Low With Sullen Roar.

Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining.

And Fast By, Hanging In A Golden Chain, This Pendent World, In Bigness As A Star Of Smallest Magnitude, Close By The Moon.