This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being.
On Being Asked, Whence Is The Flower?, Ralph Waldo Emerson
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She herself had had a deep sense of poetry; she remembered going to sleep with Shelley under her pillow.
The Last September, Elizabeth Bowen
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I want what world there is behind your eyes
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