The Doubtful Beam Long Nods From Side

O Love! For Sylvia Let Me Gain The Prize, And Make My Tongue Victorious As Her Eyes.

The Enormous Faith Of Many Made For One.

For Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife, Though Meant Each Other's Aid, Like Man And Wife.

You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

See The Wild Waste Of All-devouring Years! How Rome Her Own Sad Sepulchre Appears, With Nodding Arches, Broken Temples Spread! The Very Tombs Now Vanish'd Like Their Dead!