Get work, get work; Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.

I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever since, it grew more clean and white.

Experience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.

And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain

With what cracked pitchers go we to deep wells In this world!