True knowledge comes only through suffering.
I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me tha...
God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.
Enough! we're tired, my heart and I.We sit beside the headstone thus,And wish that name were carved for us.The moss reprints more tenderlyThe hard types of the mason's knife,As Heaven's sweet life ren...
I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you
O Life,How oft we throw it off and think, — 'Enough,Enough of life in so much! — here's a causeFor rupture; — herein we must break with Life,Or be ourselves unworthy; here we are wronged,Maimed, spoil...
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
Good to forgive Best to forget.
God's gifts put men's best dreams to shame.
I would build a cloudy HouseFor my thoughts to live in;When for earth too fancy-looseAnd too low for Heaven!Hush! I talk my dream aloud -I build it bright to see,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,Those of my own life, who by turns had flungA shadow across me.
The year's at the Spring And day's at the morn Morning's at seven The hillside's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn: God's in his Heaven - All's right with the world!
God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face. A gauntlet with a gift in't.
My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.
And then people ask me what I mean in [words torn out]. I hope you were among the six who understood or half understood my ‘Poet’s Vow’ — that is, if you read it at all. Uncle Hedley made a long pause...
Witch, scholar, poet, dreamer, and the rest...
What I do, and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.
XII sang his name instead of song;Over and over I sang his name:Backward and forward I sang it along,With my sweetest notes, it was still the same!I sang it low, that the slave-girls near
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchangeAnd be all to me?
Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,Half wishing they were dead to save the shame.The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow;They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats,And flar...