C. D. Warner, My Summer in a Garden.
E was "free to confess" (whence comes this phrase? Is't English? No—'tis only parliamentary).
Lord Byron, Don Juan.
H!" says my languid Oxford gentleman, "nothing new, and nothing true, and no matter."
R. W. Emerson.
E dropt a tear on Susan's bier,
He seem'd a most despairing swain;
Yet bluer sky brought newer tie,
And would he wish her back again?
The moments fly, and when we die
Will Philly Thistletop complain?
She'll cry and sigh, and—dry her eye,
And let herself be woo'd again.
Frederick Locker, London Lyrics.