Pity speaks to grief more sweetly than a band of instruments.

All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.

O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!

Shadows fall on even the brightest hours.

I 'm on the sea! I 'm on the sea! I am where I would ever be, With the blue above and the blue below, And silence wheresoever I go.

Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.

Death is the tyrant of the imagination.