Land and sea, weakness and decline are great separators, but death is the great divorcer for ever.

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

I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.

Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.

I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.

To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.

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.