Letitia Elizabeth Landon

“ That all of which my heart can only dream.
And I have mused upon my gift of song,
And deeply felt its beauty, and disdained
The pettiness of praise to which, at times,
My soul has bowed; and I have scorned myself
For that my cheek could burn, my heart could beat
At idle words. And yet, it is in vain
For the full heart to press back every pulse
Wholly upon itself. Aye, fair as are
The dreams that bless a poet's solitude:
There must be something more for happiness—
They seek communion. But, no more of this. ”