No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

There is no shelter in you anywhere.

A person who publishes a book appears willfully in public eye with his pants down.

pity me that the heart is slow to learn what the swift mind beholds at every turn.

This have I known always: Love is no more than the wide blossom which the wind assails, than the great tide that treads the shifting shore, strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales; Pity me that the heart is slow to learn, that the swift mind beholds at every turn.

Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne's Lace.

We think-although of course, now, we very seldom Clearly think- That the other side of War is Peace.