Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.

To Sorrow I bade good-morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly: She is so constant to me, and so kind.

--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.

The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.

The air is all softness.

To stay youthful, stay useful.