The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.

PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.

in this short life that only lasts ah hour how much-how little-is within our power.

The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.

Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity - Unable they that love - to die For Love reforms Vitality Into Divinity.

A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.

She dealt her pretty words like Blades -- How glittering they shone -- And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone -- She never deemed -- she hurt -- That -- is not Steel's Affair -- A vulgar grimace in the Flesh -- How ill the Creatures bear -- To Ache is human -- not polite -- The Film upon the eye Mortality's old Custom -- Just locking up -- to Die.