Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is, As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice; How this one clings and how that uncloses From bud to flower in the way of roses.

And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover Stoop to become your friend!

My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.

As perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me: all things leave me: You remain.

A realist, in Venice, would become a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he saw before him.

The mystic too full of God to speak intelligibly to the world.

It is in their eyes that their magic resides.