I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.

And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.

It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.

Ask yourself my love whether you are not very cruel to have so entrammelled me, so destroyed my freedom. Will you confess this in the Letter you must write immediately, and do all you can to console me in it — make it rich as a draught of poppies to intoxicate me —write the softest words and kiss them that I may at least touch my lips where yours have been. For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair.

I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.

The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.