‘There is a tide in the affairs of… Which,—taken at the flood,’—you kn… And most of us have found it now a… At least we think so, though but f… The moment, till too late to come…

When Thurlow this damn’d nonsense… (I hope I am not violent), Nor men nor gods knew what he mean… And since not even our Rogers’ pr… To common sense his thoughts could…

Bright be the place of thy soul! No lovelier spirit than thine E’er burst from its mortal control In the orbs of the blessed to shin… On earth thou wert all but divine,

If, in the month of dark December… Leander, who was nightly wont (What maid will not the tale remem… To cross thy stream, broad Helles… If, when the wintry tempest roar’d…

Start not’€”nor deem my spirit fle… In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull. I lived, I loved, I quaffed like…

In thee I fondly hoped to clasp A friend whom death alone could se… Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach’d thee from my breast for e… True, she has forced thee from my…

These locks, which fondly thus ent… In firmer chains our hearts confin… Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio… Which swell with nonsense, love or… Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve…

Thy cheek is pale with thought, bu… And yet so lovely, that if Mirth… Its rose of whiteness with the bri… My heart would wish away that rude… And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—…

Ah! heedless girl! why thus disclo… What ne’er was meant for other ear… Why thus destroy thine own repose And dig the source of future tears… Oh, thou wilt weep, imprudent maid…

Why should my anxious breast repin… Because my youth is fled? Days of delight may still be mine; Affection is not dead. In tracing back the years of youth…

When I dream that you love me, yo… Extend not your anger to sleep; For in visions alone your affectio… I rise, and it leaves me to weep. Then, Morpheus! envelope my facul…

Could Love for ever Run like a river, And Time’s endeavour Be tried in vain ­ No other pleasure

Why, Pigot, complain of this dams… Why thus in despair do you fret? For months you may try, yet, belie… Will never obtain a coquette. Would you teach her to love? for a…

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge… A palace and a prison on each hand… I saw from out the wave her struct… As from the stroke of the enchante… A thousand years their cloudy wing…

The spell is broke; the charm is f… Thus is it with life’s fitful feve… We madly smile when we should groa… Delirium is our best deceiver. Each lucid interval of thought