Out of your whole life give but a moment! All of your life that has gone before, All to come after it, -so you ignore, So you make perfect the present, condense, In a rapture of rage, for perfection's endowment, Thought and feeling and soul and sense.

The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.

Oh, to be in England now that April's there.

The great mind knows the power of gentleness.

The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!

All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

A man in armor is his armor's slave.