Oh, children, growing up to be Adventurers into sophistry, Forbear, forbear to be of those That read the rood to learn the rose.

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

If I love you Wednesday, What is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - so much is true.

I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

A ghost in marble of a girl you knew Who would have loved you in a day or two.

Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere.