I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.

I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever

My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.

You are always new to me.

His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed.

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.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.