Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch.

A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me He…

There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the t…

It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

The more money an American accumulates the less interesting he himself becomes.

So little in his purse, so much upon his back.

Poor little foal of an oppressed race! I love the languid patience of thy face.