Where, oh, where's the chain to fling, One that will chain Cupid's wing— One that will have longer power Than the April sun or shower? - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Who shall say
The love of genius is a common thing,
Such as the many feel—half selfishness,
Half vanity?—for genius is divine,
And, like a god, doth turn its dwelling-place
Into a temple; and the heart redeem'd
By its fine influence is immortal shrine
For love's divinity.

All the fairest things of earth,
Art's creations have their birth —
Still from love and death.

Each look'd upon his comrade's face,
Pale as funereal stone ;
Yet none could touch the other's hand,
For none could feel his own.
Like statues fixed, that gallant band
Stood on the dread deck to die ;
The sleet was their shroud, the wind their dirge,
And their churchyard the sea and sky.