‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.
?The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour’d upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro’ with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
Too much wit makes the world rotten.
Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation’s final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs the deep.
Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.