Better not to be at all Than not to be noble.

Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.

And so the Word had breath, and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds, More strong than all poetic thoughts; Which he may read that binds the sheaf, Or builds the house, or digs the grave, And those wild eyes that watch the waves In roarings round the coral reef.

All things human change.

My mind is clouded with a doubt.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

I found Him in the shining of the stars.