I work with patience, which is almost power.

But so fair, She takes the breath of men away Who gaze upon her unaware.

It is not merely the likeness which is precious... but the association and the sense of nearness involved in the thing... the fact of the very shadow of the person lying there fixed forever! It is the very sanctification of portraits I think - and it is not at all monstrous in me to say that I would rather have such a memorial of one I dearly loved, than the noblest Artist's work ever produced.

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

The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play.

But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence than the strong man in his wrath!

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me?