"Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same Garden after me—in vain!"

"For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day, I watched the Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all obliterated Tongue It murmur'd—'Gently, Brother, gently, pray!'"

"The Fire that on my bosom burns, Is not the Fire of Hell; But the Fire of Love, that turns My Soul into a Bell."

"Let us drink wine, for it is the life of eternity, and the joy of youth, and the companion of old age, and the soul of pleasure."

"And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in the Nothing all Things end in—Yes—Then fancy while thou art, thou art but what Thou shalt be—Nothing—Thou shalt not be less."