Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 1.

Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,

But leave, oh leave the light of Hope behind!

What though my winged hours of bliss have been

Like angel visits, few and far between.

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844): Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 375.

Coop'd in their winged, sea-girt citadel.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 28.

So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,

No more through rolling clouds to soar again,

View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,

And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 826.