Love in a hut, with water and a crust, / Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain / Clings cruelly to us.

Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought / As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!

I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.

Love is my religion - I could die for it.