All Constraint, / Except What Wisdom Lays

How Soft The Music Of Those Village Bells, Falling At Interval Upon The Ear In Cadence Sweet; Now Dying All Away, Now Pealing Loud Again, And Louder Still, Clear And Sonorous, As The Gale Comes On! With Easy Force It Opens All The Cells Where Memory Slept.

An Epigram Is But A Feeble Thing - With Straw In Tail, Stuck There By Way Of Sting.

Domestic Happiness, Thou Only Bliss Of Paradise That Has Surviv'd The Fall!

The Parson Knows Enough Who Knows A Duke.

... She, That Will With Kittens Jest, Should Bear A Kitten's Joke.