“Life is but a day;A fragile dew-drop on its perilous wayFrom a tree’s summit.”

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

“The same that oft-times hath charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn.”

“Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!    No hungry generations tread thee down;  The voice I hear this passing night was heard    In ancient days by emperor and clown:  Perhaps the self-same song that found a path     Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,      She stood in tears amid the alien corn;            The same that ofttimes hath    Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam      Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.”

“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.”

“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.”

“I never was in love - yet the voice and the shape of a woman has haunted me these two days.”