Thou art a dreaming thing, A fever of thyself.
Death is Life's high meed.
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.
I wish to believe in immortality-I wish to live with you forever.