The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!

But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!

There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.

was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?

The air is all softness.

Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.

A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.