What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.

Stop thinking for once in your life!

The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love and thought and joy.