Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.

That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.

I dread no more the first white in my hair, Or even age itself, the easy shoe, The cane, the wrinkled hands, the special chair: Time, doing this to me, may alter too My anguish, into something I can bear

And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea.

Parrots, tortoises and redwoods live a longer life than men do; Men a longer life than dogs do; Dogs a longer life than love does.

Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

To a Young Poet Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird. Bird and wing together Go down, one feather. No thing that ever flew, Not the lark, not you, Can die as others do.