Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams.

Far clouds of feathery gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea.

When the power of imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no other heaven.

Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.

Poet's food is love and fame.

It were as wise to cast a violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principle of its color and odor, as seek to transfuse from one language into another the creations of a poet. The plant must spring again from its seed, or it will bear no flower -- and this is the burthen of the curse of Babel.