Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to.

Good to forgive, Best to forget.

Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!

Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity; These are its sign and note and character.

Love is energy of life.

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!

Out of your whole life give but a moment! All of your life that has gone before, All to come after it, -so you ignore, So you make perfect the present, condense, In a rapture of rage, for perfection's endowment, Thought and feeling and soul and sense.