"No other language than some soft sweet sounds She had caught from the voices of the birds When singing to the morning, and the notes Sent from the waterfall, when, like a harp, It held discourse in music with the wind."

"The past is the poet's,—that world is his own; Thence hath his music its truth and its tone. He calls up the shadows of ages long fled, And light, as life lovely, illumines the dead."

"There grew ten thousand flowers, on whose leaves Shone every hue that ever yet hath shone In a king's diadem of Indian gems, Or in the tints an autumn sunset throws O'er the rich glaciers in the rainbow arch Of the departing shower ;"

"A summer isle, one over which the wind Hath ever pass'd in melody,— such airs As are born in the rose's breast, and die Like singing on the waters."

"I will look on the stars and look on thee, and read the page of thy destiny."

"Come, gentle harp, and let me hold Communion with thy melody, And be my tale of sorrow told To thee, my harp, and only thee."

"Gentlest one, I bow to thee, Rose-lipp'd queen of poesy, Sweet Erato, thou whose chords Waken but for love-touched words !"

"I envy thee, thou careless wind ! How light, how wild thy wandering : Thou hast no earthly chain, to bind One fetter on thy airy wing."

"The moon is darkened in the sky As if grief 's shade were passing by;"

"Oh Genius! fling aside thy starry crown, Close up thy rainbow wings, and on thy head Lay dust and ashes — for, this cold drear world Is but thy prison-house. Alas for him Who has thy dangerous gifts, for they are like The fatal ones that evil spirits give, — Bright and bewildering, leading unto death."

"And round the walls were Pictures : some calm scenes Of Earth's green loveliness, and some whose hues Were caught from faces in whose smile our life Is one of Paradise ; and Statues, whose white grace Is as a dream of poetry."

"A soft and blue Italian sky, — the blue That painters and that poets love, — the blue The lover worships in the maiden's eyes, Whose beauty is their power and spell."

"Beauty should be around the beautiful."

"There is no tie Like that last holiest link of love, which binds The lonely child to its more lonely parent."

"On a bough, The only one chained by the honeysuckle, Sat two white Doves, upon each neck a tint Like the rose-stain within the delicate shell Of the sea-pearl, as Love breathed on their plumes. And each was mirror'd in the other's eyes, Floating and dark, a paradise of passion."

"Wouldst thou know what life should be? Were it mine but to decree What its path should be for Thee ? Look upon those sister powers, Chained, but only chained with flowers, — That bright group of rose-winged Hours"

"Beautiful and radiant May, Is not this thy festal day ? Is not this spring revelry Held in honour, Queen, of thee ?"

"Do any thing but love ; or if thou lovest And art a Woman, hide thy love from him Who thou dost worship ; never let him know How dear he is ; flit like a bird before him, — Lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flower ; But be not won, or thou wilt, like that bird, When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected, And perish in forgetfulness."

"[Guido] Oh, my Ianthe, I live but in you, And I will win thee, through each obstacle By tyranny of fortune raised, my own, My best heart's treasure ! (he snatches her hand) [Manfred] Wild fool ! she is your sister !"

"[From Ianthe] I am a miser Of all thy thoughts and words, and looks and feelings— Oh, I am jealous of a leaf, a flower, A song, a star, if much thought on by thee !"

"For many years he has not breathed the air, The wholesome open air ; the sun, the moon, The stars, the clouds, the fair blue heaven, the spring, The flowers, the trees, and the sweet face of man, Song, or words yet more musical than song, Affections, feelings, social intercourse (Unless remembered in his fairy dreams) Have all been strangers to his solitude ! — A curse is set on him, like poverty, Or leprosy, or the red plague, but worse, — The heart has sent its fire up to the brain, And he is mad."

"What was our parting ?—one wild kiss, How wild I may not say, One long and breathless clasp, and then As life were past away."

"The dream on the pillow, That flits with the day, The leaf of the willow A breath wears away; The dust on the blossom, The spray on the sea; Ay,—ask thine own bosom— Are emblems of thee."

"All over the world with thee, my love ! All over the world with thee ; I care not what sky may low'r above, Or how dark our path may be."

"Thou shalt bid thy fair hands rove O'er thy soft lute's silver slumbers, Waking sounds; of song and love In their sweet Italian numbers."

"Sweet Hope ! every pleasant flower Suns itself in thy glad power ; Every sorrow comes to thee, Desart fount for Misery !"

"Ah, Woman has no look so sweet As that, when, half afraid to meet The look she loves, blushes betray All the suppressed glance would say."

"Pictures, bright pictures, oh ! they are to me A world for thought to revel in. I love To give a history to every face, to think — As I thought with the painter — as I knew What his high communing had been."

"She held the cup ; and he the while Sat gazing on her playful smile, As all the wine he wished to sip Was one kiss from her rosebud lip."

"Glorious Bard ! to whom belong Wreaths not often claimed by song, Those hung round the warrior's shield— Laurels from the blood-red field."

"Dark night, Oh terrible is thy shadow on the battle ! Blows dealt alike on friend and foe, the dead , And dying trampled on— oh, day alone Should look upon the soldier's deeds !"

"Oh this is not that sweet love Own companion to the dove ; But a wild and wandering thing, Varying as the lights that fling Radiance o'er his peacock's wing. I do weep, that Love should be Ever linked with Vanity."

"There is a flower, a magical flower, On which love hath laid a fairy power ; Gather it on the eve of St. John, When the clock of the village is tolling one ; Let no look be turned, no word be said, And lay the rose-leaves under your head ; Your sleep will be light, and pleasant your rest, For your visions will be of the youth you love best."

"Never day-beam hath shone o'er Lovelier or wilder shore ! Half was land, and half was sea Where the eye could only see The blue sky for boundary."

"Words are powerless to tell. — Such the image in my heart, — Painter, try thy glorious art !"

"[Julian] Why did I try a faith I should have known Spotless as the white dove. I cannot feel The beating of her heart. I'll kiss the colour Back to her cheek. Oh, God ! her lip is ice — There is no breath upon it ! — AGNES, thy JULIAN is thy murderer !"

"[Julian - disguised] Oh, jealousy is but A shadow cast from vanity, which lain Would take the shape of love to hide its own Selfish deformity !"

"[Julian - disguised] The hunter turns not Despairing from the chase because the deer Flies from his pursuit : every obstacle Becomes a pleasure."

"My heart is with thee, Iove ! though now Thou'rt far away from me : I envy even my own thoughts, For they may fly to thee."

"Alas, the strange varieties or life ! We live 'mid perils and pleasures, like Characters 'graven on the sand, or hues Colouring the rainbow. Wild as a sick fancy And changeful as a maiden, is this dream, This brief dream on earth - - - -"

"Love has no power to look forward — the delicious consciousness of the present, a faint but delightful shadow of the past, form its eternity."

"A man above thirty cannot enter into the wild visions of an enthusiastic girl."

"A light compliment was never yet breathed by love."

"The Painter's skill has seized a moment where Her hand is wreathing mid his raven hair; And he is bent in worship, as that touch, That soft light touch, were ecstasy too much. He is just turned from that bewildering face To the fair arm that holds the magic vase — The purple liquor is just sparkling up — The youth has pledged his heart's truth on that cup!"

"Thrice venomed is the wound when 'tis Love's hand Inflicts the blow."

"Look upon that hour-marked round, Listen to that fateful sound ; There my silent hand is stealing. My more silent course revealing ; Wild, devoted Pleasure, hear, — Stay thee on thy mad career !"

"It was a beautiful embodied thought, A dream of the fine painter, one of those That pass by moonlight o'er the soul, and flit 'Mid the dim shades of twilight, when the eye Grows tearful with its ecstasy."

"We met in secret : mystery is to love Like perfume to the flower ; the maiden's blush Looks loveliest when her cheek is pale with fear."

"Ah, deeply the Minstrel has felt all he sings, Every passion he paints his own bosom has known ; No note of wild music is swept from the strings, But first his own feelings have echoed the tone."

"Down swept the gathered waters over rocks Which broke at times the column's foaming line ; Darkening amid the snow-white froth, it swept Like an all conquering army, and an arch Of sparkling hues that in the sunbeams played Seemed to unite it with the sky which hung Above all calmness and repose :"