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

Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.

As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

Life is brief but love is LONG .

Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.