In the year Seventeen Hundred and Seventy and Three, When the GEORGES were ruling o'er Britain the free, There was played a new play, on a new-fashioned plan,...
When You and I have wandered beyond the reach of call, And all our Works immortal lie scattered on the Stall, It may be some new Reader, in that remoter age,...
"One drop of ruddy human blood puts more life into the veins of a poem than all the delusive 'aurum potabile' that can be distilled out of the choicest library."--Lowell.