A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.
I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
That which is creative must create itself.
And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.