O daisy mine, what will it be to look / From God's side even of such a simple thing?

O spring, I know thee! Seek for sweet surprise / In the young children's eyes. / But I have learnt the years, and know the yet / Leaf-folded violet.

Assuredly it would be a pity if laughter should ever become, like rhetoric and the arts, a habit.

Rome in the ages, dimmed with all her towers, / Floats in the mist, a little cloud at tether.

Our fathers valued change for the sake of its results; we value it in the act.

My day-mind can endure / Upright, in hope, all it must undergo. / But O, afraid, unsure, / My night-mind waking lies too low, too low.

There is no innocent sleep so innocent as sleep shared between a woman and a child, the little breath hurrying beside the longer, as a child's foot runs.