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.
And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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.
...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
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.
For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.
A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence; because he has no identity he is continually informing and filling some other body.
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
My creed is love and you are its only tenet.
Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone. Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
The poppies hung Dew-dabbled on their stalks.
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings.
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 - In Endymion, I leaped headlong into the sea, and thereby have become better acquainted with the soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable sdvice.
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