Woman is the lesser man.
A louse in the locks of literature.
O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.