It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat.

The Land of Faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.

This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air.

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

What the world's million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.

Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the leveling wind.

The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.