Men Are But Children Of

He With A Graceful Pride, While His Rider Every Hand Survey'd, Sprung Loose, And Flew Into An Escapade; Not Moving Forward, Yet With Every Bound Pressing, And Seeming Still To Quit His Ground.

Love Reckons Hours For Months, And Days For Years; And Every Little Absence Is An Age.

A Happy Genius Is The Gift Of Nature.

Then We Upon Our Globe's Last Verge Shall Go, And View The Ocean Leaning On The Sky: From Thence Our Rolling Neighbours We Shall Know, And On The Lunar World Securely Pry.

Successful Crimes Alone Are Justified.