While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort...
I have a little Grandchild dear, Who sends to me on each new year A valuable present: Not costly gift from store-house bought, But one that her own hands have wrought, Therefore to me more pleasant....
Rude is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained Proportions more harmonious, and approached To closer fellowship with ideal grace....
Ye powers unseen, to whom, the bards of Greece Erected altars; ye who to the mind More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart With more divine emotions; if erewhile...
You'd entertain the universe in bed, Foul woman; ennui makes you mean of soul. To exercise your jaws at this strange sport Each day you work a heart between your teeth. Your eyes, illuminated like boutiques...