Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.

All things that pass Are wisdom's looking-glass.

Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

It's surely summer. for there's a swallow: Come one swallow, his mate will follow, The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.

Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago. ("The Key-Note")

The violets whisper from the shade Which their own leaves have made: Men scent our fragrance on the air, Yet take no heed Of humble lessons we would read.

Rest, rest at the heart's core . . . till joy shall overtake.