So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.

Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dialer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.

Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.

There is always change, bad customs pass and give way to better ones.

O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!