Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.
They swayed about upon a rocking horse, And thought it Pegasus.
To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.