The white flower of a blameless life.
More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.
And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say?
Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.
This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty; such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.