THOUGH you are in your shining days, Voices among the crowd And new friends busy with your praise, Be not unkind or proud, But think about old friends the most: Time's bitter flood will rise, Your beauty perish and be lost For all eyes but these eyes.

Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.

When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.

My father was an angry and impatient teacher and flung the reading book at my head.