Are there not, dear Michael, Two points in the adventure of the diver,- One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge; One, when a prince he rises with his pearl? Festus, I plunge.
Truth is within ourselves. There is an inmost center in us all, where the truth abides in fullness.
Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven’s employ?
He guides me and the bird. In His good time!
The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.
Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbeloving; Unless you can die when the dream is past- Oh, never call it loving!
A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.
Fair or foul the lot apportioned life on earth, we bear alike.
I know a mount, the gracious Sun perceives First when he visits, last, too, when he leaves The world; and, vainly favored, it repays The day-long glory of his steadfast gaze By no change of its large calm front of snow.
I know what I want and what I might gain, and yet, how profitless to know.
What’s the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth – Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her.
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o’er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
Women hate a debt as men a gift.
Why comes temptation but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph?
Talent should minister to genius.
Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest, but let my last days be my best.
Things are where things are, and, as fate has willed, So shall they be fulfilled.
Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.