Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, / Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs.
O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel’s song!
I would jump down Etna for any public good – but I hate a mawkish popularity.
Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know
Verse, Fame and Beauty are intense indeed, But Death intenser – Death is Life’s high meed
There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object
Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; / Enough their simple loveliness for me.
O Sorrow, / Why dost borrow / Heart’s lightness from the merriment of May?
A solitary sorrow best befits / Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.
Out went the taper as she hurried in; / Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died.
A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world
You are always new, The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter