The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring. Votes: 8
Hell is full of good intentions. Votes: 5
Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, he had not the method of making a fortune. Votes: 4
If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes. Votes: 4
Tis folly to be wise. Votes: 3
Rich with the spoils of time. Votes: 0
A fav'rite has no friend! Votes: 0
Ah, tell them they are men! Votes: 0
In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. Votes: 0
Low on his funeral couch he lies! Votes: 0
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love. Votes: 0
Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. Votes: 0
Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry. Votes: 0
The insect-youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, And float amid the liquid noon! Votes: 0
The still small voice of gratitude. Votes: 0
We frolic while 'tis May. Votes: 0