He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room

In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.

His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.