And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon. - John Keats

I have been astonished that men could die martyrs
for their religion — I have shuddered at it,
I shudder no more.
I could be martyred for my religion.
Love is my religion
and I could die for that.
I could die for you.
My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.

O let me lead her gently o'er the brook,
Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look;
O let me for one moment touch her wrist;
Let me one moment to her breathing list;
And as she leaves me, may she often turn
Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.

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.