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

The year is dying in the night.

A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.

She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.

The old order changes yielding place to new.

The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.

Attain the unattainable.