I have been happy, though in a dream.I have been happy-and I love the theme:Dreams! in their vivid colouring of lifeAs in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife

At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon.

I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard is never without a pocket-handkerchief.

Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.

I was cautious in what I said before the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact, there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes that half led me to imagine she was not.

This the mass of mankind saw not, or, living lustily although unhappily, affected not to see. But, for myself, the Earth’s records had taught me to look for widest ruin as the price of highest civilization.

A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession of my soul.

Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past?

He who has never swooned, is not he who finds strange palaces and wildly familiar faces in coals that glow; is not he who beholds floating in mid-air the sad visions that the many may not view; is not he who ponders over the perfume of some novel flower -- is not he whose brain grows bewildered with the meaning of some musical cadence which has never before arrested his attention.