For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.

This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.

Half the night I waste in sighs, Half in dreams I sorrow after The delight of early skies; In a wakeful dose I sorrow For the hand, the lips, the eyes, For the meeting of the morrow, The delight of happy laughter, The delight of low replies.

I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)

Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.

Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.