Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.
Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts.
Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to.
grow old with me. the best is yet to be. the last of life for which the first was made.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her
Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!