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.

World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.

The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental.

What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.

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

There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world; oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!

Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.