Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.

Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams, Lover of loneliness, and wandering, Of upcast eye, and tender pondering! Thee must I praise above all other glories That smile us on to tell delightful stories.

Health is my expected heaven.

O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!

Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.

Of love, that fairest joys give most unrest.

Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.