Quotes About Longing

Clean starved for a look.

It were all oneThat I should love a bright particular starAnd think to wed it, he is so above me.

I would have thee gone;And yet no further than a wanton's bird,Who lets it hop a little from her hand,Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,And with a silk thread plucks it back again,So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,And call upon my soul within the house.

Absence from those we love is self from self - a deadly banishment.

O mistress mine! where are you roaming?

He will to his Egyptian dish again.

Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore again?

O! for a horse with wings!

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee to me.

Except I be by Silvia in the night,There is no music in the nightingale.

Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste.

Why, she would hang on him,As if increase of appetite had grownBy what it fed on.

Like one that stands upon a promontory,And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,Wishing his foot were equal with his eye.

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry.

Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

My heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.

So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return.

would not be for the sake of a woman five years dead whose image in my mind was now as evanescent as the smell of lavender in an old drawer.

Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

I would think of Victoria's domain, And in a moment I seemed to be there! But the fear of being taken again, Soon hurried me back to despair.

I traveled among unknown men,In lands beyond the sea;Nor, England! did I know till thenWhat love I bore to thee.

Great God! I'd rather beA pagan suckled in a creed outworn;So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.