As Poetry Is The Harmony

Second Thoughts, They Say, Are Best.

Sure There's Contagion In The Tears Of Friends.

While I Am Compassed Round With Mirth, My Soul Lies Hid In Shades Of Grief, Whence, Like The Bird Of Night, With Half-shut Eyes, She Peeps, And Sickens At The Sight Of Day.

Chaucer Followed Nature Everywhere, But Was Never So Bold To Go Beyond Her.

Every Age Has A Kind Of Universal Genius, Which Inclines Those That Live In It To Some Particular Studies.