Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.

Let us be content to work To do the things we can, and not presume To fret because it's little.

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

And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.

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

Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe,—but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully.

I would build a cloudy House For my thoughts to live in; When for earth too fancy-loose And too low for Heaven! Hush! I talk my dream aloud - I build it bright to see, - I build it on the moonlit cloud, To which I looked with thee.