I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.

Science grows and Beauty dwindles.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.

We needs must love the highest when we see it.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,- Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.