The Happy Combination Of Fortuitous

What Skilful Limner E'er Would Choose To Paint The Rainbow's Varying Hues, Unless To Mortal It Were Given To Dip His Brush In Dyes Of Heaven?

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.

I Cannot Tell How The Truth May Be; I Say The Tale As It Was Said To Me.

O, What A Tangled Web We Weave When First We Practise To Deceive!

And Love Is Loveliest When Embalm'd In Tears.