Ah, men do not know how much strength is in poise, That he goes the farthest who goes far enough.
At the devil's booth are all things sold. Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold.
My soul is not a palace of the past.
And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days.
Through aisles of long-drawn centuries my spirit walks in thought.
Large charity doth never soil, but only whitens soft white hands.