Merrily, Merrily Goes The Bark

Where Shall The Lover Rest, Whom The Fates Sever From His True Maiden's Breast, Parted For Ever? Where, Through Groves Deep And High, Sounds The Far Billow, Where Early Violets Die, Under The Willow.

The Sickening Pang Of Hope Deferr'd.

We Are Like The Herb Which Flourisheth Most When It Is Most Trampled On.

Adversity Is, To Me At Least, A Tonic And A Bracer.

What An Ornament And Safeguard Is Humor! Far Better Than Wit For A Poet And Writer. It Is A Genius Itself, And So Defends From The Insanities.