Deemest thou laborOnly is earnest?Grave is all beauty,Solemn is joy.

We hold our hate too choice a thing, for light and careless lavishing.

He saw wan Woman toil with famished eyes; He saw her bound, and strove to sing her free. He saw her fall'n; and wrote "The Bridge of Sighs"; And on it crossed to immortality.

And though circuitous and obscureThe feet of Nemesis how sure!

On from room to room I stray,Yet mine Host can ne'er espy,And I know not to this day,Whether guest or captive I.

God, eldest of Poets.

Hate and mistrust are the children of blindness.