I Doubt Sometimes Whether A Quiet And

Divine In Hookas, Glorious In A Pipe When Tipp'd With Amber, Mellow, Rich, And Ripe;... Yet Thy True Lovers More Admire By Far Thy Naked Beauties - Give Me A Cigar!

He Had Kept The Whiteness Of His Soul, And Thus Men O'er Him Wept.

I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received; We Have Enough Within Us The Meanest Vassal As The Loftiest Monarch, Not To Add To Each Other's Natural Burden Of Mortal Misery.

Sighing That Nature Formed But One Such Man, And Broke The Die.

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods.