Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
Love is a flaming heart, and its flames aspire / Till they cloud the soul in the smoke of a windy fire. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
As perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain,… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
“Love I never associated with the senses, it was not even passion that I wanted; it was a conscious, subtle, elaborate sensuality,… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
I have laid sorrow to sleep;Love sleeps.She who oft made me weepNow weeps. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover Stoop to… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
There are certain natures to whom work is nothing, the act of work everything. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
To have loved, to have been made happy thus, / What better fate has life in store for us? — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
A place has almost the shyness of a person, with strangers; and its secret is not to be surprised by a too direct interrogation. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
My life is like a music-hall,Where, in the impotence of rage,Chained by enchantment to my stall,I see myself upon the stageDance to amuse a… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
The clamours of spring are the same old delicate noises, The earth renews its magical youth at a breath. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
Without charm there can be no fine literature, as there can be no perfect flower without fragrance. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
I know the woman has no soul, I know The woman has no possibilities Of soul or mind or heart, but merely is The… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
God, like all highest things, Hides light in shade, And in the night his visitings To sleep and dreams are clearliest made. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
A realist, in Venice, would become a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he saw before him. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
The English mist is always at work like a subtle painter, and London is a vast canvas prepared for the mist to work on. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
I had my dreams of Venice, but nothing that I had dreamed was as impossible as what I found. — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
Hardly any one is able to see what is before him, just as it is in itself. He comes expecting one thing, he finds… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift as a… — Arthur Symons Copy Share Image
