Opinion, A Sovereign Mistress Of

If Ever (as That Ever May Be Near) You Meet In Some Fresh Cheek The Power Of Fancy, Then Shall You Know The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen, Arrows Make.

Time Is Like A Fashionable Host That Slightly Shakes His Parting Guest By The Hand, And With His Arm Outstretch'd, As He Would Fly, Grasps In The Comer.

I Have Seen Better Faces In My Time Than Stands On Any Shoulder That I See Before Me At This Instant.

What The Great Ones Do, The Less Will Prattle Of

How Is It That The Clouds Still Hang On You?