One Of The Pleasures Of Reading Old

I Cannot Conceive Why People Will Always Mix Up My Own Character And Opinions With Those Of The Imaginary Beings Which, As A Poet, I Have The Right And Liberty To Draw.

Champagne With Its Foaming Whirls/as White As Cleopatra's Pearls.

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

One Hates An Author That's All Author.

Yet I Did Love Thee To The Last, As Ferverently As Thou, Who Didst Not Change Through All The Past, And Canst Not Alter Now.