Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.

Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.

Knowledge enormous makes a God of me.

Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions,

Majesties, sovran voices, agonies,

Creations and destroyings, all at once

Pour into the wide hollows of my brain,

And deify me, as if some blithe wine

Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk,

And so become immortal.

Neither poetry, nor ambition, nor love have any alertness of countenance as they pass by me.

I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.

I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.

The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.

I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.

They swayed about upon a rocking horse, And thought it Pegasus.

Even bees, the little alsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.

Two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one.

For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.

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.

Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, -- Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.

When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, -- that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.

Nothing ever becomes real 'til it is experienced.

I have so much of you in my heart.

Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet -- mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.

The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.