How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.

Drunkards of summer are quite as frequent as Drunkards of wine.

Nothing is the force that renovates the World.

The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care

That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.

Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.

I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf