Life is but a day; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit.
Four seasons fill the measure of the year; there are four seasons in the minds of men.
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it
And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.