If you desire faith, then you have faith enough.

Of writing many books there is no end.

The English have a scornful insular way Of calling the French light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use

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

I worked with patience which means almost power.

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