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

Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine.

I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?

O Lord, I cannot plead my love of Thee: I plead Thy love of me: - the shallow conduit hails the unfathomed sea.

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daïs of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

A man is ever apt to contemplate himself out of all proportion to his surroundings.

Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you call’d them sweet?