Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

One should "Fly lures of every signature, and stamp, / Which lull Thy Reason, and rouz'd Conscience cramp?"

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

"Imagination shap'd continual schemes, / And fill'd with figures odd her airy dreams, / While Fancy flew around with golden wings, / And coin'd conceptions of substantial Things."

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

"Not suffering Souls in fleshly cells to lie, / Like the stall'd ox, or glutton of the stye;"

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

"Solicit Fancy from celestial flights, / To wander o'er the World for frail delights / And crowd Imagination's rooms, immense, / With what relates alone to Time and Sense!"

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

"Pride, panting, still, for some superior sway-- / Lust, prowling, like a savage Beast, for prey-- / Dark Passions, propagating feuds, and strife, / Lay waste, or swallow up, the sweets of Life."

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

"When these resplendent Lights had thus display'd / The shapes and hues of all in Nature made; / The Fish were form'd, depicting Appetites, / And Fowls that soar aloft like Fancy's flights; / Beasts--useful Cattle--Insects--creeping Things-- / Which tread the soil, or soar on wavering wings-- / T...

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1815

"With my own hand I'll ope the way / From its base tenement of clay; / Tir'd of its suff'rings here below, / I'll loose it from this scene of woe; / I'll prune its wings and let it fly, / To seek again its native sky."

— Combe, William (1742 -1823)

Date: 1816

"Know, lovely virgin, thy deluding art / Hath lodg'd a thousand scorpions in my breast."

— Wolcot, John, pseud. Peter Pindar, (1738-1819)

Date: 1818

Love is a fluttering in the heart or rather a "Young feather'd tyrant"

— Keats, John (1795-1821)

Date: 1818

"Great Muse, thou know'st what prison, / Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets / Our spirit's wings."

— Keats, John (1795-1821)