When the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose.
The grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead.
The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
Why employ intelligent and highly paid ambassadors and then go and do their work for them? You don't buy a canary and sing yourself.
--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
There's a blush for won't, and a blush for shan't, and a blush for having done it: There's a blush for thought and a blush for naught, and a blush for just begun it.
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers.
X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!” XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill’s side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing.
O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings
Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken.
Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green; there is a budding morrow in midnight; there is triple sight in blindness keen.
The genius of poetry must work out its own salvation in a man; it cannot be matured by law and precept, but by sensation and watchfulness in itself. That which is creative must create itself.
I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.
In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
I am certain I have not a right feeling towards women -- at this moment I am striving to be just to them, but I cannot. Is it because they fall so far beneath my boyish imagination? When I was a schoolboy I thought a fair woman a pure Goddess; my mind was a soft nest in which some one of them slept, though she knew it not.
The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.
A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence; because he has no identity he is continually informing and filling some other body.
...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: