Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.
It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat.
The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.
Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice?
All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the plowman, splashing the wintry mold, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.