Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed, Confine some under cover, And when love goes, bid him God-speed. And find another lover.

Never love with all your heart, It only ends in aching.

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind

The loss of love is a terrible thing; They lie who say that death is worse.

Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed, Confine some under cover, And when love goes, bid him God-speed. And find another lover.

I have a rendezvous with life.

For we must be one thing or the other, an asset or a liability, the sinew in your wing to help you soar, or the chain to bind you to earth.