The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.

Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her

When a man's busy, why leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy.

The world and life's too big to pass for a dream

Ah, love, - you are my unutterable blessing.....I am in full sunshine now.

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth

Smiling the boy fell dead.