Locke sank into a swoon; The Garden died; God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.

Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.

Being so caught up, So mastered by the brute blood of the air, Did she put on his knowledge with his power Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or woman lost?

A true hero, after the chivalrous mediaeval type, his [Champlain's] character was dashed largely with the spirit of romance. Though earnest, sagacious, and pen…

How is it that in Ireland, where they never had any knowledge of God but, always, until now, cherished idols and unclean things, they are lately become a peopl…

Believing in progress does not mean believing that any progress has yet been made. That is not the sort of belief that indicates real faith.