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

Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.

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

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.

And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.

As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow; Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.