If you can sit at set of sun And count the deeds that you have done And counting find oneself-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him that heard. One glance most kind, Which fell like sunshine where he went, Then you may count that day well spent.

O lyric Love, half angel and half bird. And all a wonder and a wild desire.

Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.

All poetry is difficult to read - The sense of it anyhow.

If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens.

grow old with me. the best is yet to be. the last of life for which the first was made.

Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.