I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.

All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.

It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon.

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

The mighty hopes that make us men.

Men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, but women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.