I am profoundly enchanted by the flowing complexity in you. - John Keats

The world is too brutal for me — I am glad there is such a thing as the grave — I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.

You might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: — do I wake or sleep?