Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.
Robert FrostThe world is full of willing people; some willing to work, the rest willing to let them.
Robert FrostOh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.
Robert FrostPossessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Robert Frost