Upon your shattered ruins where, This vine will flourish still, as rare, As fresh, as fragrant as of old. Love will not crumble.

Dropt tears have hastened your decay, And brought you one step nigher death; And you have heard, unthrilled, unmoved, The music of Love's golden breath, And seen the light in eyes that loved. You think you hold the core and kernel, Of all the world beneath your crust, Old dial? But when you lie in dust, This vine will bloom, strong, green, and proved. Love is eternal.

Of what use to destroy the children of evil? It is evil itself we must destroy at the roots.

The events of childhood do not pass but repeat themselves like seasons of the year.

Old sundial, you stand here for Time: For Love, the vine that round your base, Its tendrils twines, and dares to climb, And lay one flower-capped spray in grace, Without the asking on your cold, Unsmiling and unfrowning face.

All the ill that is in us comes from fear, and all the good from love.

It seems to me there are no rules, only instances; but perhaps that is because I learned no rules, and am only an instance myself.