From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.

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

And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech.

The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.