Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.

And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!

For a man to become a poet (witness Petrarch and Dante), he must be in love, or miserable.

Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes: Pique her and soothe in turn-soon Passion crowns thy hopes.

The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

I love not man the less, but Nature more.