I Have Seen The Lady

Man Cannot Call The Brimming Instant Back; Time's An Affair Of Instants Spun To Days; If Man Must Make An Instant Gold, Or Black, Let Him, He May; But Time Must Go His Ways. Life May Be Duller For An Instant's Blaze. Life's An Affair Of Instants Spun To Years, Instants Are Only Cause Of All These Tears.

Poetry Is A Mixture Of Common Sense, Which Not All Have, With An Uncommon Sense, Which Very Few Have.

People Who Leave Their Own Time Out Of Their Work Cannot Be Surprised If Their Time Fails To Find Them Interesting.

Commonplace People Dislike Tragedy Because They Dare Not Suffer And Cannot Exult.

It's A Warm Wind, The West Wind, Full Of Birds' Cries.