Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg The murmur of the world! <i>The Marriage of Geraint</i> - Alfred Tennyson

Like ballad burthen music kept, As on the Lariano crept To that fair port, below the castle Of Queen Theodolind, where we slept; Or hardly slept, but watched awake A cypress in the moonlight shake, The moonlight touching o’er a terrace One tall agave above the lake.

My end draws nigh; 't is time that I were gone. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight

I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.