In the morning of the world, When earth was nigher heaven than now.
All poetry is difficult to read - The sense of it anyhow.
Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe, all were for me, in the kiss of one girl.
Every one soon or late comes round by Rome.
How good is life, the mere living!
Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.