Thou canst not force my soul to wish thee ill, That is the only evil that can kill.

Better to wait and yearn, and still to wait, And die at last with unappeased desire, Than live to be the jest of such a fate, For that is my conception of hell-fire.

Whatever is a cruel wrong, Whatever is unjust, The honest years that speed along Will trample in the dust.

Hide in your heart a bitter thought, Still it has power to blight; Think Love, although you speak it not It gives the world more light.

The art of being kind is all the world needs.

I knew it the first of the summer, I knew it the same at the end, That you and your love were plighted, But couldn't you be my friend?

Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.