Ye Stars! Which Are The Poetry Of

Heaven Gives Its Favourites-early Death.

Tis Sweet To Listen As The Night Winds Creep From Leaf To Leaf.

No Hand Can Make The Clock Strike For Me The Hours That Are Passed.

Happiness Was Born A Twin.

Many Are Poets, But Without The Name;for What Is Poesy But To Createfrom Overfeeling Good Or Ill; And Aimat An External Life Beyond Our Fate,and Be The New Prometheus Of New Men,bestowing Fire From Heaven, And Then, Too Late,finding The Pleasure Given Repaid With Pain