| Quotes |
Topic |
| Apparel | Each Bond-street buck conceits, unhappy elf; He shows his clothes! alas! he shows himself. O that they knew, these overdrest self-lovers, What hides the body oft the mind discovers. |
| December | In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look; But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time. |
| Eating | And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon. |
| Fanatics | Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect. |
| Hearing | Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings? |
| Immortality | No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream. |
| Immortality | He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead. |
| Immortality | I long to believe in immortality. . . . If I am destined to be happy with you here--how short is the longest life. I wish to believe in immortality--I wish to live with you forever. |
| Inns | Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? |
| Joy | But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy? |
| Life | Oh for a life of sensations rather than thoughts. |
| Life | A proverb is no proverb to you until life has illustrated it. |
| Love | Love is my religion - I could die for it. |
| Nature | The poetry of the earth is never dead. |
| Night | 'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright, And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they? |
| Nightingales | Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth. |
| Nightingales | Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep? |
| Nightingales | 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. |
| Oak | Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir. |
| Owls | St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold. |
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