The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.

I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.

Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.

O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.

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