For love reflects the thing beloved.
Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.
Till last by Philip’s farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
The white flower of a blameless life.
Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
Love’s too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last-far off-at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.
The mighty hopes that make us men.
The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
By blood a king, in heart a clown.
Authority forgets a dying king.
The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.
One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.
Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother’s shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.
What rights are those that dare not resist for them?
Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.