But I, in the chilling twilight stand and wait At the portcullis, at thy castle gate, Longing to see the charmed door of dreams Turn on its noiseless hinges, delicate sleep!

Sorrow itself is not so hard to bear As the thought of sorrow coming. Airy ghosts, That work no harm, do terrify us more Than men in steel with bloody purposes. Death is not dreadful; 'tis the dread of death— We die whene'er we think of it!

True art selects and paraphrases, but seldom gives a verbatim translation.

No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.

The man who suspects his own tediousness is yet to be born.

O Liberty...! is it well To leave the gates unguarded?

When friends are at your hearthside met, Sweet courtesy has done its most If you have made each guest forget That he himself is not the host.