Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.

I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)

A louse in the locks of literature.

Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.