And what are you that, missing you, I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake? And what are you that, missing you, As many days as crawl I should be listening to the wind And looking at the wall? I know a man that’s a braver man And twenty men as kind, And what are you, that you should be The one man in my mind? Yet women’s ways are witless ways, As any sage will tell,— And what am I, that I should love So wisely and so well?

The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief or grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,—it must have been Very pretty.

Life has no friend.

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

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.

The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while.

The soul can split the sky in two and let the face of God shine through.