O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the Evening listens.

A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.

Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green; there is a budding morrow in midnight; there is triple sight in blindness keen.

You are always new to me.

It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.

I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.

Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!