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Seite 253 - My days are in the yellow leaf ; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle ; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile.
Seite 94 - But all this is too late. I love you, and you love me, — at least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great consolation in all events. But /more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. " Think of me, sometimes, when the Alps and the ocean divide us, — but they never will, unless you wish it.
Seite 46 - The following morn was rainy, cold, and dim: Ere Maddalo arose I called on him, And whilst I waited, with his child I played; A lovelier toy sweet Nature never made...
Seite 94 - But you will recognise the handwriting of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book which was yours, he could only think of love. In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours — Amor mio — is comprised my existence here and hereafter.
Seite 71 - They made me, without my search, a species of popular idol ; they, without reason or judgment, beyond the caprice of their good pleasure, threw down the image from its pedestal ; it was not broken with the fall, and they would, it seems, again replace it, — but they shall not. " You ask about my health : about the beginning of the year I was in a state of great exhaustion, attended by such debility of stomach that nothing remained upon it ; and I was obliged to reform my ' way of life,' which was...
Seite 45 - His passions and his powers are incomparably greater than those of other men, and instead of the latter having been employed in curbing the former, they have mutually lent each other strength. His ambition preys upon itself, for want of objects which it can consider worthy of exertion.