We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.

Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.

To me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.

All precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth, For love in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth.

The woman's cause is man's. They rise or sink Together. / Dwarf'd or godlike, bound or free; miserable, / How shall men grow? - Let her be / All that not harms distinctive womanhood.

The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs the deep.

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.