That Hour O' Night's Black Arch The

Not The Bee Upon The Blossom, In The Pride O' Sunny Noon; Not The Little Sporting Fairy, All Beneath The Simmer Moon; Not The Poet, In The Moment Fancy Lightens In His E'e, Kens The Pleasure, Feels The Rapture, That Thy Presence Gi'es To Me.

I Look On The Opposite Sex With Something Like The Admiration With Which I Regard The Starry Sky On A Frosty December Night. I Admire The Beauty Of The Creator's Workmanship, I Am Charmed With The Wild But Graceful Eccentricity Of The Motions, And Then I Wish Both Of Them Goodnight.

Firmness In Enduring And Exertion Is A Character I Always Wish To Possess. I Have Always Despised The Whining Yelp Of Complaint And Cowardly Resolve.

Yon Rosebuds In The Morning-dew, How Pure Amang The Leaves Sae Green!

Some Books Are Lies Frae End To End.