And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.
A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
The soul of man is of the imperishable substance of the stars!
It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is
From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.
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.