Hope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man's deceiver Was never mine.

Because I liked you better Than suits a man to say, It irked you, and I promised I'd throw the thought away. To put the world between us We parted stiff and dry: 'Farewell,' said you, 'forget me.' 'Fare well, I will,' said I. If e'er, where clover whitens The dead man's knoll, you pass, And no tall flower to meet you Starts in the trefoiled grass, Halt by the headstone shading The heart you have not stirred, And say the lad that loved you Was one that kept his word.

I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.

When the journey's over/There'll be time enough to sleep.

Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose, But young men think it is, and we were young.

The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.

Do not ever read books about versification: no poet ever learnt it that way. If you are going to be a poet, it will come to you naturally and you will pick up all you need from reading poetry.