“Deep violets, you liken to The kindest eyes that look on you, Without a thought disloyal.”

“XI I sang his name instead of song; Over and over I sang his name: Backward and forward I sang it along, With my sweetest notes, it was still the same! I sang it low, that the slave-girls near Might never guess, from what they could hear, That all the song was a name.”

“For frequent tears have run; The colours from my life.”

“Yet how proud we are,In daring to look down upon ourselves!”

“Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!”

“I love a ballad but even too well if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.”

“If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue.”

“The object of Art is to give life a shape.”