A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.

Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.

Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.