Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.

And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!

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

The woman's cause is man's. They rise or sink Together. / Dwarf'd or godlike, bound or free; miserable, / How shall men grow? - Let her be / All that not harms distinctive womanhood.

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

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.

And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say?