’Mid dissonance and gloom—­a star
Which moves not ’mid the moving heavens alone—­
A smile among dark frowns—­a gentle tone 75
Among rude voices, a beloved light,
A solitude, a refuge, a delight. 
If I had but a friend!  Why, I have three
Even by my own confession; there may be
Some more, for what I know, for ’tis my mind 80
To call my friends all who are wise and kind,-
And these, Heaven knows, at best are very few;
But none can ever be more dear than you. 
Why should they be?  My muse has lost her wings,
Or like a dying swan who soars and sings, 85
I should describe you in heroic style,
But as it is, are you not void of guile? 
A lovely soul, formed to be blessed and bless: 
A well of sealed and secret happiness;
A lute which those whom Love has taught to play 90
Make music on to cheer the roughest day,
And enchant sadness till it sleeps?...

...

To the oblivion whither I and thou,
All loving and all lovely, hasten now
With steps, ah, too unequal! may we meet 95
In one Elysium or one winding-sheet!

If any should be curious to discover
Whether to you I am a friend or lover,
Let them read Shakespeare’s sonnets, taking thence
A whetstone for their dull intelligence 100
That tears and will not cut, or let them guess
How Diotima, the wise prophetess,
Instructed the instructor, and why he
Rebuked the infant spirit of melody
On Agathon’s sweet lips, which as he spoke 105
Was as the lovely star when morn has broke
The roof of darkness, in the golden dawn,
Half-hidden, and yet beautiful. 
I’ll pawn
My hopes of Heaven-you know what they are worth —­
That the presumptuous pedagogues of Earth, 110
If they could tell the riddle offered here
Would scorn to be, or being to appear
What now they seem and are—­but let them chide,
They have few pleasures in the world beside;
Perhaps we should be dull were we not chidden, 115
Paradise fruits are sweetest when forbidden. 
Folly can season Wisdom, Hatred Love.

...

Farewell, if it can be to say farewell
To those who

...

I will not, as most dedicators do, 120
Assure myself and all the world and you,
That you are faultless—­would to God they were
Who taunt me with your love!  I then should wear
These heavy chains of life with a light spirit,
And would to God I were, or even as near it 125
As you, dear heart.  Alas! what are we?  Clouds
Driven by the wind in warring multitudes,
Which rain into the bosom of the earth,