Tis Not The Food, But The Content,

Let My Muse Fail Of Thy Former Helps, And Only Use Her Inadulterate Strength. What's Done By Me Hereafter Shall Smell Of The Lamp, Not Thee.

It Is The End That Crowns Us, Not The Fight.

O Thou, The Drink Of Gods And Angels! Wine

When One Is Past, Another Care We Have; Thus Woe Succeeds A Woe, As Wave A Wave.

In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse The Holy Incantation Of A Verse