In A Sadly Pleasing Strain,

I Am His Highness' Dog At Kew; Pray Tell Me, Sir, Whose Dog Are You?

All Nature Is But Art Unknown To Thee.

Lo! The Poor Indian! Whose Untutor'd Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind; His Soul Proud Science Never Taught To Stray Far As The Solar Walk Or Milky Way.

A God Without Dominion, Providence, And Final Causes, Is Nothing Else But Fate And Nature.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought.