Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
Death: the grand perhaps.
How very hard it is to be a Christian!
A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.
Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!
Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to.