You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou ... dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my ...
Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the v...
To see distinctly the machinery—the wheels and pinions—of any work of Art is, unquestionably, of itself, a pleasure, but one which we are ...
the wind came out of the cloud chilling And killing my Annabel Lee.
The waves have now a redder glow— The hours are breathing faint and low—...
The painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought;... he grew tremulous and ... crying with a loud voice, 'This is indeed Life ...
The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure ...: buffoons,... improvisatori,... ballet-dancers,... musicians,... Beauty,... wine. A...
The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
The death ... of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
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