For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.

Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.

Stop thinking for once in your life!

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.

...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.

Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.