Thought is deeper than all speech,

Feeling deeper than all thought;

Souls to souls can never teach

What unto themselves was taught.

Christopher P Cranch (1813-1892): Stanzas.

Alas! how little can a moment show

Of an eye where feeling plays

In ten thousand dewy rays:

A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Triad.

The soul of music slumbers in the shell

Till waked and kindled by the master's spell;

And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour

A thousand melodies unheard before!

Samuel Rogers (1763-1855): Human Life.

I live not in myself, but I become

Portion of that around me; and to me

High mountains are a feeling, but the hum

Of human cities torture.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 72.

And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift,

Is quick and transient,—comes, and lo! is gone,

While Northern thought is slow and durable.

Robert Browning (1812-1890): Luria. Act v.

A feeling of sadness and longing

That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): The Day is done.

I waive the quantum o' the sin,

The hazard of concealing;

But, och! it hardens a' within,

And petrifies the feeling!

Robert Burns (1759-1796): Epistle to a Young Friend.

Alas! how little can a moment show

Of an eye where feeling plays

In ten thousand dewy rays:

A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Triad.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling as to sight? or art thou but

A dagger of the mind, a false creation,

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act ii. Sc. 1.

O, who can hold a fire in his hand

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite

By bare imagination of a feast?

Or wallow naked in December snow

By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?

O, no! the apprehension of the good

Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.