Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside, And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride.

A moment's thought would have shown him. But a moment is a long time, and thought is a painful process.

Into my hear an air that kills through yon far country blows what are those blue remembered hills what spires,what farms are those? that is the land of lost content I can see it shining plain the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.

Ten thousand times I've done my best and all's to do again.

I think that to transfuse emotion - not to transmit thought but to set up in the reader's sense a vibration corresponding to what was felt by the writer - is the peculiar function of poetry.

I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.

But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts. And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts