Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone: And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky.

Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.

Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.

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