Poetry is talking on tiptoe.
But O the truth, the truth. The many eyes That look on it The diverse things they see.
Prayer for worldly goods is worse than fruitless, but prayer for strength of soul is that passion of the soul which catches the gift it seeks.
Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars.
God's rarest blessing is, after all, a good woman!
A woman who is not quite a fool will forgive your being but a man, if you are surely that. . .