And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign’d On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!
It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon.
Bible reading is an education in itself.
Where love could walk with banish’d Hope no more.
Love lieth deep; Love dwells not in lip-depths.
I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.
Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
And wheresoe’er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
Gone – flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.
All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr’d To the dancers dancing in tune; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon.
Whate’er thy joys, they vanish with the day: Whate’er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away, To sleep! to sleep! Sleep, mournful heart, and let the past be past: Sleep, happy soul, all life will sleep at last.
God gives us love, someone to love he lends us.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.
But while I breathe Heaven’s air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.
Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower-but if I could understand What you are, root and all, all in all, I should know what God and man is.
Love is hurt with jar and fret; Love is made a vague regret.
No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.
Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder’d string? I am shamed through all my nature to have lov’d so slight a thing.