I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time, Unfetter’d by the sense of crime, To whom a conscience never wakes; Nor, what may count itself as blest, The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; ‘Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.

Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control; these three alone lead one to sovereign power.

No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.

For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.

To me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.

Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.

And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.