Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
I count life just a stuff to try the soul's strength on.
It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
God is the perfect poet.
Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds?
White shall not neutralize the black, nor good compensate bad in man, absolve him so: life's business being just the terrible choice.
What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.
Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity These are its sign and note and character.
Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.
I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.
Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.
If you get simple beauty and naught else, you get about the best thing God invents.
Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.
Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.
What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.
So, fall asleep love, loved by me... for I know love, I am loved by thee.
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.