Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings,Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,Empty the haunted air, and gnomèd mine—Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile madeThe tender-person’d Lamia melt into a shade
I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.
Life is but a day;
A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
From a tree’s summit.
Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days – three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call’d him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
Land and sea, weakness and decline are great separators, but death is the great divorcer for ever.
For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.
I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Call’d him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,To take into the air my quiet breath.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?—On death
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.
Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings,Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,Empty the haunted air, and gnomèd mine—Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile madeThe tender-person’d Lamia melt into a shade
Darkling I listen; and, for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death…