I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact’ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And feel that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;- then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
Topics: Death, Dying
Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity—it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Topics: Poetry, Art, Poets
O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel’s song!
Though the most beautiful creature were waiting for me at the end of a journey or a walk; though the carpet were of silk, the curtains of the morning clouds; the chairs and sofa stuffed with cygnet’s down; the food manna, the wine beyond claret, the window opening on Winander Mere, I should not feel—or rather my happiness would not be so fine, as my solitude is sublime.
Away with old Romance! Away with novels, plots and plays of foreign courts; Away with love-verses, sugar’d in rhyme, the intrigues, amours of idlers; Fitted for only banquets of the night where dancers to late music slide; The unhealthy pleasures, ex
What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
Are there not thousands in the world who love their fellows even to the death, who feel the giant agony of the world, and more, like slaves to poor humanity, labor for mortal good?
I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave – thank God for the quiet grave
Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous—who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.
Undescribed sounds, that come a-swooning over hollow grounds, and wither drearily on barren moors.
The Public is a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
I always made an awkward bow.
Topics: Last Words
I equally dislike the favor of the public with the love of a woman—they are both a cloying treacle to the wings of independence.
The poetry of the earth is never dead.
Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by someone I do not know. I admire lolling on a lawn by a water-lilied pond to eat white currants and see goldfish: and go to the fair in the evening if I’m good. There is not hope for that—one is sure to get into some mess before evening.
It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow’d Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star’d at the Pacific—and all his men
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Topics: Tourism, Reading, Travel
Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine hosts Canary wine?
Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness.
I would jump down Etna for any public good—but I hate a mawkish popularity.
The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate.
Wondering Whom to Read Next?
- Arthur Henry Hallam English Essayist, Poet
- Dante Gabriel Rossetti British Poet, Artist
- Edward Lear English Humorist, Illustrator
- Matthew Arnold English Poet, Critic
- Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron) English Romantic Poet
- A. E. Housman English Scholar, Poet
- Leigh Hunt British Author
- John Donne English Poet, Cleric
- John Milton English Poet
- Thomas Hood British Poet, Humorist