My Thoughts By Night Are Often Filled

My Thoughts By Night Are Often Filled With Visions False As Fair: For In The Past Alone, I Build My Castles In The Air.

He Kept At True Good Humor's Mark The Social Flow Of Pleasure's Tide: He Never Made A Brow Look Dark, Nor Caused A Tear, But When He Died.

The Critic Does His Utmost To Blight Genius In Its Infancy; That Which Rises In Spite Of Him He Will Not See; And Then He Complains Of The Decline Of Literature.

But Still My Fancy Wanders Free Through That Which Might Have Been.

The Present Is Our Own; But While We Speak, We Cease From Its Possession, And Resign The Stage We Tread On, To Another Race, As Vain, And Gay, And Mortal As Ourselves.