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| Shakespeare led a life of allegory; his works are the comments on it. |
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| She looked at me as she did love, / And made sweet moan. |
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| Should ever the fine-eyed maid to me be kind; Ah! surely it must be whenever I find; Some flowery spot, sequestered, wild, romantic; That often must have seen a poet frantic. |
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| So the two brothers and their murdered man / Rode past fair Florence. |
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| Soon, up aloft, / The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide. |
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| 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 host's Canary wine? |
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| St Agnes' Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was! / The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; / The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, / And silent was the flock in woolly fold. |
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| Stop and consider! life is but a day; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep Of Montmorenci |
| Life |
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| The automobile changed our dress, manners, social customs, vacation habits, the shape of our cities, consumer purchasing patterns, common tastes and positions in intercourse |
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| The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate. |
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| The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness. |
| Imagination |
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| The latest dream I ever dreamed / On the cold hill side. |
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| The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing /to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts. Not a select party. |
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| The poetry of the earth is never dead. |
| Poetry |
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| The Public is a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility. |
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| The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;/ And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. |
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| The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children |
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| Their smiles, / Wan as primroses gathered at midnight / By chilly-fingered Spring. |
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| 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 |
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| Then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink |
| Fame; Love |
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