I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
John KeatsThe world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
John KeatsThough the most beautiful creature were waiting for me at the end of a journey or a walk; though the carpet were of silk, the curtains of the morning clouds; the chairs and sofa stuffed with cygnet's down; the food manna, the wine beyond claret, the window opening on Winander Mere, I should not feel -or rather my happiness would not be so fine, as my solitude is sublime.
John Keats