Th' Embroid'ry Of Poetic Dreams.

Knowledge Is Proud That It Knows So Much; Wisdom Is Humble That It Knows No More.

The Beggarly Last Doit.

Tis Pleasant, Through The Loopholes Of Retreat, To Peep At Such A World; To See The Stir Of The Great Babel, And Not Feel The Crowd.

Strength May Wield The Ponderous Spade, May Turn The Clod, And Wheel The Compost Home; But Elegance, Chief Grace The Garden Shows, And Most Attractive, Is The Fair Result Of Thought, The Creature Of A Polished Mind.

And, Of All Lies (be That One Poet's Boast) / The Lie That Flatters I Abhor The Most.