So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of that dead weight

Short swallow-flights of song, that dip Their wings in tears, and skim away.

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

What are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.

Love is the only gold.