When I love most, love is disguised. In hate; and when hate is surprised, in love, then I hate most.
My sun sets to rise again.
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.
Day! Faster and more fast. O'er night's brim, day boils at last.
The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.