Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.
What I aspired to be and was not, comforts me.
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools'.
Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.
If you get simple beauty and naught else, you get about the best thing God invents.