I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!

You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.

Health is my expected heaven.

I find I cannot exist without Poetry

No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.

You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.