I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
I want a brighter word than bright
I must choose between despair and Energy──I choose the latter.
Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
Death is Life's high meed.
Love is my religion - I could die for it.
Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it
You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.
We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.
Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.
I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
If poetry does not come as naturally as leaves to a tree, then it better not come at all.
Life is but a day; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit.
Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.
O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look; O let me for one moment touch her wrist; Let me one moment to her breathing list; And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
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