O Love! they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! And answer, echoes, answer! dying, dying, dying.

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!

Sweet is true love, though given in vain.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.

The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.