75 quotes
But the passion of jealousy cannot exist without the passion of love, and is like its parent, creative, impetuous, and credulous.
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.
One of those gifted ones that walk the earth,
Like angels in their beauty, and the while
The air is filled with music from their wings.
How much
I loved the painter's glorious art, which forms
A world like, but more beautiful than this;
Just catching nature in her happiest mood!
The Golden Violet (1827)
Oh, all
Know love is woman's happiness.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Beautiful language! Love's peculiar, own,
But only to the spring and summer known.
The Troubadour (1825)
Oh, the heart
Knows not the power of music till it loves !
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.
The first step towards establishing pretensions of any kind, is to believe firmly in them yourself: faith is very catching, and half the beauty-reputations of which I hear have originated with the possessors.
As steals the dew along the flower,
So stole thy smile on me ;
I cannot tell the day, nor hour
I first loved thee !
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.
— a poet's love
Is immortality!
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Well may storm be on the sky,
And the waters roll on high,
When MANMADIN passes by.
Earth below and heaven above
Well may bend to thee, oh Love!
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Ah! never is that cherished face
Banished from its accustomed place—
It shines upon my weariest night
It leads me on in thickest fight:
All that seems most opposed to be
Is yet associate with thee—
Together life and thee depart,
Dream—idol—treasure of my heart.
Pattern love-letter — "I — I — I — you — you — you ; you — you — you — I — I — I," garnished with loves and doves ad libitum.
—for earth were too like heaven,
If length of life to love were given.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
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 !
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)
I know not which is the most fatal gift,
Genius or Love, for both alike are ruled
By stars of bright aspect and evil influence.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)