Each life unfulfilled, you see; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy.
Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.
It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad.
All poetry is difficult to read - The sense of it anyhow.
The great mind knows the power of gentleness.
Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.