Song

You say you love; but with a voice

Chaster than a nun’s, who singeth

The soft Vespers to herself

While the chime-bell ringeth-

O love me truly!

You say you love; but with a smile

Cold as sunrise in September,

As you were Saint Cupid’s nun, 

And kept his weeks of Ember.

O love me truly!

You say you love, - but then your lips

Coral tinted teach no blisses,

More than coral in the sea-

They never pout for kisses-

O love me truly!

You say you love; b ut then your hand

No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth,

It is, like a statue’s, dead,

While mine to passion burneth-

O love me truly!

                             John Keats

Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.

I will clamber through the clouds and exist

I must choose between despair and Energy──I choose the latter.

I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.

My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.

“I have good reason to be content,
for thank God I can read and
perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.”

“The problems of the world cannot possibly be solved by skeptics or cynics whose horizons are limited by the obvious realities. We need men who can dream of things that never were.”

Tis the witching hour of night,
Or bed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen,
For what listen they?