And the best and the worst of this is That neither is most to blame, If you have forgotten my kisses And I have forgotten your name.

The beast faith lives on its own dung.

I dore not always touch her, lest the kiss Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss, Brief, bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin; Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.

And lo, between the sundawn and the sun His day's work and his night's work are undone: And lo, between the nightfall and the light, He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.

And the best and the worst of this is That neither is most to blame, If you have forgotten my kisses And I have forgotten your name.

To have read the greatest works of any great poet, to have beheld or heard the greatest works of any great painter or musician, is a possession added to the best things of life.

Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.