If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…I could walk through my garden forever.
Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all.
I hold it true, whate’er befall;I feel it when I sorrow most;’Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.
Half the night I waste in sighs,Half in dreams I sorrow afterThe delight of early skies;In a wakeful dose I sorrowFor the hand, the lips, the eyes,For the meeting of the morrow,The delight of happy laughter,The delight of low replies.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despairRise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
HopeSmiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering ‘it will be happier’…
Come friends, it’s not too late to seek a newer world.
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;Thou madest Life in man and brute;Thou madest Death; and lo, thy footIs on the skull which thou hast made.
Dear as remembered kisses after death,And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign’dOn lips that are for others; deep as love,Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;O Death in Life, the days that are no more!
Once in a golden hour I cast to earth a seed. Up there came a flower, The people said, a weed.
I remainMistress of mine own self and mine own soul
So runs my dream, but what am I?An infant crying in the nightAn infant crying for the lightAnd with no language but a cry.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!As tho’ to breathe were life!
For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.
And this gray spirit yearning in desireTo follow knowledge like a sinking star,Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and doleUnequal laws unto a savage race,That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I fain would follow love, if that could be; I needs must follow death, who calls for me; Call and I follow, I follow! let me die.
No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl’d,But one poor poet’s scroll, and with his word She shook the world.
There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and for ever.
There rolls the deep where grew the treeO earth, what changes hast thou seen!There where the long street roars hath been.The stillness of the central sea.
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
Boldly they rode and well,Into the jaws of Death,Into the mouth of hell.
The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but on the mastery of his passions.
O love, O fire! once he drewWith one long kiss my whole soul throughMy lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
Wearing all that weight of learning like a flower.
That loss is common would not makeMy own less bitter, rather more:Too common! Never morning woreTo evening, but some heart did break.
Forgive my grief for one removedThy creature whom I found so fairI trust he lives in Thee and thereI find him worthier to be loved.
And at the closing of the dayShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;The broad stream bore her far away,The Lady of Shallot.
Yet all experience is an arch wherethroughGleams that untraveled world whose margin fadesForever and forever when I move.How dull it is to pause, to make an end,To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!As though to breathe were life!
Forerun thy peers, thy time, and letThy feet, millenniums hence, be set In midst of knowledge, dream’d not yet.
All precious things discovered lateTo those that seek them issue forth,For Love in sequel works with Fate,And draws the veil from hidden worth
I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.
I wither slowly in thine arms; here at the quiet limit of the world, a white hair’d shadow roaming like a dream.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves a shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,and slips into the bosom of the lake:So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip into my bosom and be lost in me.
Behold, we know not anything;I can but trust that good shall fallAt last — far off — at last, to all,And every winter change to spring.
Let us hush this cry of ‘Forward’, till ten thousand years have gone.
I embrace the purpose of God and the doom assigned
Virtue – to be good and just -Every heart, when sifted well,Is a clot of warmer dust,Mix’d with cunning sparks of hell.- The Vision of Sin
Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die
Theirs not to make reply,Theirs not to reason why,Theirs but to do and die.Into the valley of DeathRode the six hundred.
A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.
What rights are those that dare not resist for them?