“And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed,Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.”

“I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!How beautiful thou art!”

“I do think the barsThat kept my spirit in are burst - that IAm sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!How beautiful thou art!”

“Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.”

“Thou art a dreaming thing,A fever of thyself.”

“This living hand, now warm and capableOf earnest grasping, would, if it were coldAnd in the icy silence of the tomb,So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nightsThat thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood,So in my veins red life might stream again,And thou be conscience-calm'd. See, here it is--I hold it towards you.”

“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!”