Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more

Like the lost pleiad seen no more below.

In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.

The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.