I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; That only men incredulous of despair, half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air beat upward to god’s throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach.
A man may love a woman perfectly, and yet by no means ignorantly maintain a thousand women have not larger eyes. Enough that she alone has looked at him with eyes that, large or small, have won his soul.
Books succeed; and lives fail.
The beautiful seems right by force of beauty and the feeble wrong because of weakness.
Children use the fist until they are of age to use the brain.
The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars.
Purple lilies Dante blew To a larger bubble with his prophet breath.
Thank God for grace, Ye who weep only! If, as some have done, Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place And touch but tombs, – look up! Those tears will run Soon in long rivers down the lifted face, And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.
A woman’s always younger than a man at equal years.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me – wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.
And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain.
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me?
I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use.
Deep violets, you liken to The kindest eyes that look on you, Without a thought disloyal.
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers?
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell by reiteration chiefly.
The flower-girl’s prayer to buy roses and pinks, held out in the smoke, like stars by day.
Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.
Our Euripides the human, With his droppings of warm tears, and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.
In your patience ye are strong.
The great chasm between the thing I say, and the thing I would say, would be quite dispiriting to me, in spite even of such kindnesses as yours, if the desire did not master the despondency.