If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.

For frequent tears have run; The colours from my life.

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

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; That only men incredulous of despair, half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air beat upward to god's throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach

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

We overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination... down our earth to rake.