Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.

Tall oaks branch charmed by the earnest stars Dream and so dream all night without a stir.

Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.

Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.

The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.

I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.