And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.

Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.

Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.

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.

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.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold