And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

Where love could walk with banish'd Hope no more.

All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.

Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.

I stood on a tower in the wet, And New Year and Old Year met, And winds were roaring and blowing: And I said, "O years, that meet in tears, Have ye aught that is worth the knowing? Science enough and exploring, Wanderers coming and going, Matter enough for deploring, But aught that is worth the knowing?

The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, "Am I your debtor?" And the Lord--"Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.

I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.