Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O Never give the heart outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.

All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.

No man has ever lived that had enough of children's gratitude or woman's love.

If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.

A poet is a good citizen turned inside out.

I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.

I balanced all, brought all to mind, the years to come seemed waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind, in balance with this life, this death.