Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.

If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?

And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech.

A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas.

How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul

Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!