Stop and consider! life is but a day
A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
I always made an awkward bow.
I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
Or thou might'st better listen to the wind, Whose language is to thee a barren noise, Though it blows legend-laden through the trees.