• SEND me some tokens, that my hope may live
    Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;

    Send me some honey, to make sweet my hive,
    That in my passions I may hope the best.

    I beg nor ribbon wrought with thine own...

  • Who never drinks and never bets,

    But loves his wife and pays his debts

    And feels content with what he gets?

    Tom Collins.


    Who has the utmost confidence

    That all the banks now in suspense

    Will meet their paper three years hence?

    Tom Collins.


    Who reads the Herald leaders...

  • You talk of riders on the flat, of nerve and pluck and pace --

    Not one in fifty has the nerve to ride a steeplechase.

    It's right enough, while horses pull and take their faces strong,

    To rush a flier to the front and bring the field along;

    Bur what about the last half-mile, with horses blown and beat --

    When every...

  • Too few the mornings be,

    Too scant the nights.

    No lodging can be had

    For the delights

    That come to earth to stay,

    But no apartment find

    And ride away.

  • Too happy Time dissolves itself

    And leaves no remnant by -

    'Tis Anguish not a Feather hath

    Or too much weight to fly -

  • Oh, if there may departing be

    Any forgot by victory

      In her imperial round,

    Show them this meek apparelled thing,

    That could not stop to be a king,

      Doubtful if it be crowned !

  • Too little way the House must lie

    From every Human Heart

    That holds in undisputed Lease

    A white inhabitant —


    Too narrow is the Right between —

    Too imminent the chance —

    Each Consciousness must emigrate

    And lose its neighbor once —

  • Too scanty 'twas to die for you,

    The merest Greek could that.

    The living, Sweet, is costlier —

    I offer even that —


    The Dying, is a trifle, past,

    But living, this include

    The dying multifold — without

    The Respite to be dead.

  • Touch lightly Nature's sweet Guitar

    Unless thou know'st the Tune

    Or every Bird will point at thee

    Because a Bard too soon —