Others

Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

A lovely lady, garmented in light From her own beauty.

A lovely lady, garmented in light From her own beauty.

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets’ food is love and fame.

And solitary places; where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be.

Familiar acts are beautiful through love.

The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want: worse need for them. The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom; And all best things are thus confused with ill.

Spirit of Beauty, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form.

’Tis strange—but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction. 7

The antique Persians taught three useful things— To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth.

’Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, Should let itself be snuff’d out by an article.

And, after all, what is a lie? ’Tis but The truth in masquerade.

The women pardon’d all except her face.

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! 6 Where burning Sappho loved and sung.

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! 6 Where burning Sappho loved and sung.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch’s wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch’s wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?

I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth.

[Of Samuel Taylor Coleridge:] I wish he would explain his explanation.

There be none of Beauty’s daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me.

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

The poetry of speech.