655 quotes
In this consists the difference between painting and poetry : the painter reproduces others, — the poet reproduces himself.
Pattern love-letter — "I — I — I — you — you — you ; you — you — you — I — I — I," garnished with loves and doves ad libitum.
A day may be a destiny ; for life
Lives in but little— but that little teems
With some one chance, the balance of all time
—for earth were too like heaven,
If length of life to love were given.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
—to enjoy yourself is the easy method to give enjoyment to others; ...
Heath's book of Beauty, 1833 (1832)
But song has touch'd my lips with fire,
And made my heart a shrine;
For what, although alloy'd, debased,
Is in itself divine.
The Venetian Bracelet (1829)
Love is divine in our belief
Of its eternity — how vain,
When we have known that Love can die,
To think that he can live again !
I heard them hymn his name--his power,--
I heard them, and I smiled;
How could they say the earth was ruled
By but a sleeping child?
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
We enjoy no pleasure so much as we do tormenting ourselves.
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.
But Love's bright fount is never pure;
And all his pilgrims must endure
All passion's mighty suffering
Ere they may reach the blessed spring.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Alas! she looked but in that eye
Where now was writ her destiny.
The heart love leaves looks back ever;
The heart where he is dwelling, never.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
Merciful God, thou dost not answer me !
I made my choice on earth, and now my heart
Has no asylum. Ye decide for me,
And such a destiny is best.
A story from the stars; or rather one
Of starry fable from the olden time,
When young Imagination was as fresh
As the fair world it peopled with itself.
The Venetian Bracelet (1829)
He had a power; in his eye
There was a quenchless energy,
A spirit that could dare
The deadliest form that Death could take,
And dare it for the daring's sake.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
It matters not its history; love has wings
Like lightning , swift and fatal, and it springs
Like a wild flower where it is least expected,
Existing whether cherish'd or rejected
The Troubadour (1825)
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 !
You reason too much; all young people are so fond of reasons, as if reasons were of any use. … It is your duty to write what will sell, and I tell you reasons are unmarketable commodities.
Hope is love's happiness, but not its life;—
How many hearts have nourished a vain flame
In silence and in secret, though they knew
They fed the scorching fire that would consume them!
The Improvisatrice (1824)
The heart hath its mystery, and who may reveal it,
Or who ever read in the depths of their own? —
How much, we never may speak of, yet feel it,
But, even in feeling it, know it unknown!
The Venetian Bracelet (1829)