It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
Of love, that fairest joys give most unrest.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Death is Life's high meed.
Load every rift with ore.
I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!