I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge -- The Palate of the Hate departs -- If any would avenge Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- It is a faded Meat -- Anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'Tis starving makes it fat

A soft Sea washed around the House A Sea of Summer Air And rose and fell the magic Planks That sailed without a care — For Captain was the Butterfly For Helmsman was the Bee And an entire universe For the delighted crew.

The only Commandment I ever obeyed — 'Consider the Lilies.

We outgrow love like other things and put it in a drawer, till it an antique fashion shows like costumes grandsires wore.

The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is To meet an antique book In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take, And warming in our own, A passage back, or two, to make To times when he was young. His quaint opinions to inspect, His knowledge to unfold On what concerns our mutual mind, The literature of old.