A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.

Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.

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

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.

Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by someone I do not know. I admire lolling on a lawn by a water-lilied pond to eat white currants and see goldfish: and go to the fair in the evening if I'm good. There is not hope for that -one is sure to get into some mess before evening.

You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.