We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?
Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.
My heart is breaking for a little love.
In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, Snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.
Observe this dew-drenched rose of Tyrian gardens A rose today. But you will ask in vain Tomorrow what it is; and yesterday It was the dust, the sunshine, and the rains.
O Lord, I cannot plead my love of Thee: I plead Thy love of me: – the shallow conduit hails the unfathomed sea.
And may you happy live, And long us bless.
The downhill path is easy, but there’s no turning back...
All things that pass Are wisdom’s looking-glass.
For one man is my world of all the men this wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
A man is ever apt to contemplate himself out of all proportion to his surroundings.
Obedience is the fruit of faith.
Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.
For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.
I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?
We must not look at goblin men.
Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by.
Beautiful, delightful, noble, memorable, as is the world, I yet am well content in my shady crevice.
She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.