“was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?”

“O that our dreamings all, of sleep or wake,Would all their colours from the sunset take:From something of material sublime,Rather than shadow our own soul's day-timeIn the dark void of night. For in the worldWe jostle, - but my flag is not unfurl'd...”

“Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?---"On death”

“Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Dancing music, music sad,Both together, sane and mad…”