A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.
Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.