Odes by John Keats (Ode on a Grecian Urn, Ode to a Nightingale, To Autumn, Ode to Indolence, Ode on Melancholy, Ode to Psyche)

There was a party of the old race, as yet unshadowed by the evil flowering among their kind.

He flipped the cane, admired it. She had thought that she and pierre had been discreet.