I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.

Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.

When I love most, love is disguised. In hate; and when hate is surprised, in love, then I hate most.

In God's good time, Which does not always fall on Saturday When the world looks for wages.

And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient,- comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable.

A lion may die of an ass's kick.

The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its best to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up and all the cottage warm.