If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror, No vanity's displayed: I'm looking for the face I had Before the world was made.

People are responsible for their opinions, but Providence is responsible for their morals.

The living can assist the imagination of the dead.

I am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch.

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

We had fed the heart on fantasies, The heart's grown brutal from the fare, More substance in our enmities Than in our love

Heaven blazing into the head: Tragedy wrought to its uttermost. Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages And all the drop-scenes drop at once Upon a hundred thousand stages It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.