There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.

I am not a pessimist but a pejorist (as George Eliot said she was not an optimist but a meliorist); and that philosophy is founded on my observation of the world, not on anything so trivial and irrelevant as personal history.

All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.

Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure.

All knowledge is precious whether or not it serves the slightest human use.

And malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man.

There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.