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

Into the street the piper stepped, Smiling first a little smile As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while. And the piper advanced And the children followed.

Lose who may-I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!

I do what many dream of, all their lives

Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.

What's come to perfection perishes. Things learned on earth we shall practice in heaven; Works done least rapidly Art most cherishes.