When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.

Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.

The lonely season in lonely lands, when fled Are half the birds, and mists lie low, and the sun Is rarely seen, nor strayeth far from his bed; The short days pass unwelcomed one by one.

When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.

O soul, be patient: thou shalt find A little matter mend all this; Some strain of music to thy mind, Some praise for skill not spent amiss.

So sweet love seemed that April morn, when first we kissed beside the thorn, so strangely sweet, it was not strange we thought that love could never change.

Beauty being the best of all we know sums up the unsearchable and secret aims of nature.