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