Stop And Consider! Life Is But A

Music's Golden Tongue Flatter'd To Tears This Aged Man And Poor.

Give Me Books, French Wine, Fruit, Fine Weather And A Little Music Played Out Of Doors By Somebody I Do Not Know.

Sudden A Thought Came Like A Full-blown Rose, Flushing His Brow.

Literary Men Are . . . A Perpetual Priesthood.

When I Behold, Upon The Night's Starr'd Face, Huge Cloudy Symbols Of A High Romance, And Think That I May Never Live To Trace Their Shadows, With The Magic Hand Of Chance.