The soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,And placed it by thee on a golden throne,-- And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)Is by thee only, whom I love alone.

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.

God Himself is the best Poet, And the Real is His song.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.

Souls are dangerous things to carry straight through all the spilt saltpetre of this world.

Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.