Nor All That Heralds Rake

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!

Oh! Snatched Away In Beauty's Bloom, On Thee Shall Press No Ponderous Tomb; But On Thy Turf Shall Roses Rear Their Leaves, The Earliest Of The Year.

My Heart In Passion, And My Head On Rhymes.

When We Two Parted In Silence And Tears, Half Broken-hearted, To Sever For Years.

He Scratched His Ear, The Infallible Resource To Which Embarrassed People Have Recourse.