The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity.

When you publish something, it is very much as if you pulled your pants down in public. If what you have written is good, nobody can hurt you; if what you have written is bad, nobody can help you.

All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.

Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

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

But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain.