Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes.

He's just, your cousin, ay, abhorrently, He'd wash his hands in blood, to keep them clean.

Like to write? Of course, of course I do. I seem to live while I write - it is life, for me.

Quick-loving hearts ... may quickly loathe.

I, who had had my heart full for hours, took advantage of an early moment of solitude, to cry in it very bitterly. Suddenly a little hairy head thrust itself from behind my pillow into my face, rubbing its ears and nose against me in a responsive agitation, and drying the tears as they came.

But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence than the strong man in his wrath!

XI I sang his name instead of song; Over and over I sang his name: Backward and forward I sang it along, With my sweetest notes, it was still the same! I sang it low, that the slave-girls near Might never guess, from what they could hear, That all the song was a name.