“Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,Lover of loneliness, and wandering,Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!Thee must I praise above all other gloriesThat smile us on to tell delightful stories.”

“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.”

“And we will shadeOurselves whole summers by a river glade;And I will tell thee stories of the sky,And breathe thee whispers of its minstrelsy,My happy love will overwing all bounds!O let me melt into thee! let the soundsOf our close voices marry at their birth;Let us entwine hoveringly!”

“Already with thee! tender is the night. . .But here there is no light. . .”

“And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.”

“For Poesy alone can tell her dreams, With the fine spell of words alone can save Imagination from the sable charm And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say, ‘Thou art no Poet may’st 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. Whether the dream now purpos’d to rehearse Be poet’s or fanatic’s will be known When this warm scribe my hand is in the grave.”

“When by my solitary hearth I sit,When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit,And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.”