|John Bartlett (18201905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.|
|Mary E. Coleridge. (18611907)|
| Breathe slumbrous music round me, sweet and slow,|
To honied phrases set!
Into the land of dreams I long to go.
Bid me forget!
| Where is delight? and what are pleasures now?|
Moths that a garment fret.
The world is turned memorial, crying, Thou
Shalt not forget!
| Is this wide world not large enough to fill thee,|
Nor Nature, nor that deep mans Nature, Art?
Are they too thin, too weak and poor to still thee,
Thou little heart?