The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
Bright 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.
Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
Shed no tear – O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more – O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.
Life is but a day: A fragile dewdrop on its perilious way From a tree’s summit.
I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.
I have so much of you in my heart.
Land and sea, weakness and decline are great separators, but death is the great divorcer for ever.
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
The excellence of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with beauty and truth.
Many have original minds who do not think it – they are led away by custom!
I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
Neither poetry, nor ambition, nor love have any alertness of countenance as they pass by me.
I don’t need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever.