I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings.
Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.