And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with you all through my life?-sharing my fire, my bed, Sharing-oh, worst of all things!-the same head?- And, when I feed myself, feeding you too?

Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year My soul is all but out of me-let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity.

Time can make soft that iron wood.

I would blossom if I were a rose.