Nature, so far as in her lies, imitates God.
That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.
He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
A life of nothing’s nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.
The bearing and the training of a child Is woman’s wisdom.
It is hard to wive and thrive both in a year.
As the husband is, the wife is.
Is there evil but on earth? Or pain in every people sphere? Well, be grateful for the sounding watchword “Evolution” here.
Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.
The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there.
Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.
Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.
On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.
But the churchmen fain would kill their church, As the churches have kill’d their Christ.
This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty; such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.
I wind about, and in and out, – With here a blossom sailing, – And here and there a lusty trout, – And here and there a grayling...
I know that age to age succeeds, Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, A dust of systems and of creeds.