She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes.

Life is a quest and love a quarrel

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home to a leaky castle across the sea to lie awake in linen smelling of lavender, and hear the nightingale, and long for me.

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

Although we sometimes did without a few of life's necessities, we rarely lacked for its luxuries.

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

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink.