When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.

Literary men are . . . a perpetual priesthood.

To Sorrow I bade good-morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly: She is so constant to me, and so kind.

The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.

What is more gentle than a wind is summer?

--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.