Nature is one with rapine, a harm no preacher can heal; The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow speared by the shrike, And the whole little wood where I sit is a world of plunder and prey.

My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.

Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.

Who is wise in love, love most, say least.

What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.

He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.