Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free?

Touch has a memory.

...dark embers smolder inside me - one touch and they flare - who would have thought memory combustible, or near you bright sparks appear?...

Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds
Along the pebbled shore of memory!
Many old rotten-timber'd boats there be
Upon thy vaporous bosom, magnified
To goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,
And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd and dry.

Love is my religion - I could die for it.

Away with old Romance! Away with novels, plots and plays of foreign courts; Away with love-verses, sugar'd in rhyme, the intrigues, amours of idlers; Fitted for only banquets of the night where dancers to late music slide; The unhealthy pleasures, ex