Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me..

The gray-green stretch of sandy grass,Indefinitely desolate;A sea of lead, a sky of slate;Already autumn in the air, alas!One stark monotony of stone….

The dead are happy, having no desire. I rise and fall, and rise and fall again, Something is in me, famishing for bread, Baffled and unappeasable as ….

The English mist is always at work like a subtle painter, and London is a vast canvas prepared for the mist to work on..

As perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me: all things lea….

Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is, As a bird tha….

Leave words to them whom words, not doings, move..

But we have been taught to see before our eyes have found out a way of seeing for themselves..

I had my dreams of Venice, but nothing that I had dreamed was as impossible as what I found..

I have laid sorrow to sleep;Love sleeps.She who oft made me weepNow weeps..

I know the woman has no soul, I know The woman has no possibilities Of soul or mind or heart, but merely is The masterpiece of flesh: well, be it so.….

I have loved colours, and not flowers;Their motion, not the swallows wings;And wasted more than half my hoursWithout the comradeship of things..

And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover Stoop to become your friend!.

My life is like a music-hall,Where, in the impotence of rage,Chained by enchantment to my stall,I see myself upon the stageDance to amuse a music-hal….

My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring..

The making of one's life into art is, after all, the first duty and privilege of every man..

There are certain natures to whom work is nothing, the act of work everything..

What we ask of him is, that he should find out for us more than we can find out for ourselves... He must have the passion of a lover..

Love is a flaming heart, and its flames aspire / Till they cloud the soul in the smoke of a windy fire..

There is not a dream which may not come true, if we have the energy which makes, or chooses, our own fate.... It is only the dreams of those light sl….

Criticism is properly the rod of divination: a hazel switch for the discovery of buried treasure, not a birch twig for the castigation of offenders..