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

A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.

Already with thee! tender is the night. . . But here there is no light. . .

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, Strive for her son to seize my careless heart; When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him as the morning frightens night!

My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.

Of love, that fairest joys give most unrest.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!