There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.
I am a part of all that I have met.
Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.
And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!
My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.
Silence, beautiful voice.
My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
We love but while we may; And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love.
How fares it with the happy dead?
As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.
Battering the gates of heaven with the storms of prayer.
I loved you, and my love had no return, And therefore my true love has been my death.
Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again.