The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.

And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)

Nature, red in tooth and claw.

The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, little breezes dusk and shiver, thro' the wave that runs forever by the island in the river, flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls and four gray towers, overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle imbowers, the Lady of Shalott.

What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?