Large, musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry.

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

In this abundant earth no doubt Is little room for things worn out: Disdain them, break them, throw them by! And if before the days grew rough We once were lov'd, us'd -- well enough, I think, we've far'd, my heart and I.

Some people always sigh in thanking God.

A grave, on which to rest from singing?

Happy are all free peoples, too strong to be dispossessed. But blessed are those among nations who dare to be strong for the rest!

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use