Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.

A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.

If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?

The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; The leaf is dead, the yearning past away; New leaf, new life--the days of frost are o'er; New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love--free field--we love but while we may.

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.

Better not be at all than not be noble.

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.