A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.

I thought I could not breathe in that fine air That pure severity of perfect light I yearned for warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot.

Every man, for the sake of the great blessed Mother in Heaven, and for the love of his own little mother on earth, should handle all womankind gently, and hold them in all Honor.