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

That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?

Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp'd no more - Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.

I sometimes find it half a sin, To put to words the grief i feel, For words like nature,half reveal, and half conceal the soul within.

A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.

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