Date: 1817, 1818

"With ever-changing notes it floats along, / Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep / A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: August 1817

"Whenever any object takes such a hold on the mind as to make us dwell upon it, and brood over it, melting the heart in love, or kindling it to a sentiment of admiration;--whenever a movement of imagination or passion is impressed on the mind, by which it seeks to prolong and repeat the emotion, ...

— Hazlitt, William (1778-1830)

Date: August 1817

"There is no natural harmony in the ordinary combinations of significant sounds: the language of prose is not the language of music, or of passion: and it is to supply this inherent defect in the mechanism of language--to make the sound an echo to the sense, when the sense becomes a sort of echo ...

— Hazlitt, William (1778-1830)

Date: 1818

"O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, / That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind "

— Keats, John (1795-1821)

Date: 1818

"A scowl is sometimes on his brow, but who / Look full upon it feel anon the blue / Of his fair eyes run liquid through their souls."

— Keats, John (1795-1821)

Date: 1819

"'I sought the town, and to the ocean gave / 'My mind and thoughts, as restless as the wave"

— Crabbe, George (1754-1832)

Date: 1819

"He who saves me from this conclusion, who makes a mock of this doctrine, and sets at nought its power, is to me not less than the God of my idolatry, for he has left one drop of comfort in my soul."

— Hazlitt, William (1778-1830)

Date: 1820

Thought may "thaw, solve and melt"

— Keats, John (1795-1821)

Date: 1820

"And the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were drowned / In an ocean of dreams without a sound; / Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress / The light sand which paves it, consciousness"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1820

"I curse thee! let a sufferer's curse / Clasp thee, his torturer, like remorse; / Till thine Infinity shall be / A robe of envenomed agony; / And thine Omnipotence a crown of pain, / To cling like burning gold round thy dissolving brain."

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)