Do not all charms fly at the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: we know her woof, her texture; she is given in the dull catalogue of common...

O cruelty, / To steal my Basil-pot away from me!

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;Conspiring with him how to load and blessWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,And fill all fruit...

Tis the witching hour of night,Orbed is the moon and bright,And the stars they glisten, glisten,Seeming with bright eyes to listenFor what they listen?

I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.

Now a soft kiss — Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss

Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skiews, And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed? What little town by river...

I equally dislike the favor of the public with the love of a woman — they are both a cloying treacle to the wings of independence.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cooled a long age in the deep-delvid earth…

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...

The only means of strengthening one’s intellect is to make up one’s mindabout nothing — to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.

Love in a hut, with water and a crust, / Is – Love forgive us! – cinders, ashes, dust.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.

Should ever the fine-eyed maid to me be kind; Ah! surely it must be whenever I find; Some flowery spot, sequestered, wild, romantic; That often must have seen a poet frantic.

For ever piping songs for ever new.

I have never yet been able to perceive how anything can be known for truth by consecutive reasoning – and yet it must be.

Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–Not in lone splendour hung aloft the nightAnd watching, with eternal lids apart,Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,The moving waters at their priestlike taskOf pure ablution round earth’s...

The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided,...

Leaving great verse unto a little clan.

Poetry should… should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.

Much have I traveled in the realms of gold,/ And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; / Round many western islands have I been / Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.

Are there not thousands in the world who love their fellows even to the death, who feel the giant agony of the world, and more, like slaves to poor humanity, labor for mortal good?

I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.

Now a soft kiss – Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

A proverb is no proverb to you until life has illustrated it

Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave A paradise for a sect

Health is my expected heaven.

Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass / Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.

Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?

I have good reason to be content,for thank God I can read andperhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.

I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;/ And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

It keeps eternal whispering around / Desolate shores.

Souls of poets dead and gone, / What Elysium have ye known, / Happy field or mossy cavern, / Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? / Have ye tippled drink more fine / Than mine host’s...

Turn the key deftly in the oil Ӭd wards, / And seal the hush Ӭd Casket of my Soul.

Point me out the way / To any one particular beauteous star.

Wherein lies happiness? In that which becksOur ready minds to fellowship divine,A fellowship with essence; till we shine,Full alchemiz’d, and free of space. BeholdThe clear religion of heaven!

Aí de quando a paixão é simultaneamente modesta e arrebatada!

Though a quarrel in the streets is a thing to be hated, the energies displayed in it are fine; the commonest man shows a grace in his quarrel.

I think I shall be among the English poets after my death.

Virgin-choir to make delicious moan / Upon the midnight hours.

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow and leaden eyed despairs

You might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore.

Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one’s soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.

Think of my Pleasure in Solitude, in comparison of my commerce with the world – there I am a child – there they do not know me not even my most intimate acquaintance – I...

There’s a blush for won t, and a blush for shan’t, and a blush for having done it: There’s a blush for thought and a blush for naught, and a blush for just begun it.

I see a lilly on thy brow, / With anguish moist and fever dew; / And on thy cheek a fading rose / Fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads / Full...