Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come, Dancing to a frenzied drum, Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.

Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.

I pray-for fashion's word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.

Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice?

I am still of opinion that only two topics can be of the least interest to a serious and studious mood - sex and the dead.

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.