I loved thee, though I told thee not, Right earlily and long, thou wert joy of my ever spot theme of my every song. - John Clare

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the best
Are strange — nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

My illness was love, though I knew not the smart,
But the beauty of love was the blood of my heart.

O how I feel, just as I pluck the flower And stick it to my breast — words can't reveal; But there are souls that in this lovely hour Know all I mean, and feel whate'er I feel.