“Alone!--that worn-out word, So idly spoken, and so coldly heard; Yet all that poets sing and grief hath…”

“O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fallen.”

“When the gray-hooded Even, Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus'…”

“Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.”

“Often the cockloft is empty in those whom Nature hath built many stories high.”

“Both potter is jealous of potter and craftsman of craftsman; and poor man has a grudge against poor…”