Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.

His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed.

I have had a thousand kisses, for which with my whole soul I thank love—but if you should deny me the thousand and first—‘t would put me to the proof how great a misery I could live through.

O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!

Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by someone I do not know. I admire lolling on a lawn by a water-lilied pond to eat white currants and see goldfish: and go to the fair in the evening if I'm good. There is not hope for that -one is sure to get into some mess before evening.

Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.

To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty