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.

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.

The imagination may be compared to Adam's dream-he awoke and found it truth.

It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.

Four seasons fill the measure of the year; there are four seasons in the minds of men.

That queen of secrecy, the violet.

I never was in love - yet the voice and the shape of a woman has haunted me these two days.