Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? / Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
Out went the taper as she hurried in; / Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died.
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave A paradise for a sect
Fame like a wayward girl, will still be coy – To those who woo her with too slavish knees
Virgin-choir to make delicious moan / Upon the midnight hours.
I think we may class the lawyer in the natural history of monsters.
My passions are all asleep from my having slumbered till nearly eleven and weakened the animal fiber all over me to a delightful sensation about three degrees on this sight of faintness — if I had teeth of pearl and the breath of lilies I should call it languor — but as I am I...
Bards of Passion and of Mirth, / Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too?
The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children
I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving… I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for...
Yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits.
When I Have Fears That I May Cease To BeWhen I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain, Before high piled books, in charact’ry, Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain; When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,...
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call’d him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth...
For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.
Life is but a day:A fragile dewdrop on its perilious wayFrom a tree’s summit
I have been astonished that men could die martyrsfor their religion–I have shuddered at it,I shudder no more.I could be martyred for my religion.Love is my religionand I could die for that.I could die for you.My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
Bright StarBright star, would I were steadfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains...
Music’s golden tongue Flatter’d to tears this aged man and poor
Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain / Clings cruelly to us.
O Sorrow, / Why dost borrow / Heart’s lightness from the merriment of May?
For sure so fair a place was never seen; Of all that ever charmed romantic eye.