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

It 's wiser being good than bad; It 's safer being meek than fierce; It 's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; That after Last returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched.

Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!

In this world, who can do a thing, will not; And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power — And thus we half-men struggle.

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth

Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe, all were for me, in the kiss of one girl.

Truth is within ourselves. There is an inmost center in us all, where the truth abides in fullness.