The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.

What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.

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

As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.

Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.