Whose Wit In The Combat, As Gentle

I Even Think That, Sentimentally, I Am Disposed To Harmony. But Organically I Am Incapable Of A Tune.

A Sweet Child Is The Sweetest Thing In Nature.

All, All Are Gone, The Old Familiar Faces.

I Like You And Your Book, Ingenious Hone! In Whose Capacious All-embracing Leaves The Very Marrow Of Tradition 's Shown; And All That History, Much That Fiction Weaves.

Beholding Heaven, And Feeling Hell.