"He often lying broad awake, and yet Remaining from the body, and apart In intellect and power and will, hath heard Time flowing in the middle of the night, And all things creeping to a day of doom."

"With blackest moss the flower plots Were thickly crusted, one and all; The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the gable wall. The broken sheds looked sad and strange: Unlifted was the clinking latch; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!'"

"Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lieth."

"Like ballad burthen music kept, As on the Lariano crept To that fair port, below the castle Of Queen Theodolind, where we slept; Or hardly slept, but watched awake A cypress in the moonlight shake, The moonlight touching o’er a terrace One tall agave above the lake."

"Ambition Is like the sea wave, which the more you drink The more you thirst—yea—drink too much, as men Have done on rafts of wreck—it drives you mad."

"Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again."

"A breath that fleets beyond this iron world And touches him who made it."

"In our windy world What's up is faith, what's down is heresy."

"Be patient. Our Playwright may show In some fifth act what this wild Drama means."

"What use to brood? This life of mingled pains And joys to me, Despite of every Faith and Creed, remains The Mystery."

"The song that nerves a nation's heart Is in itself a deed."

"Slav, Teuton, Kelt, I count them all My friends and brother souls, With all the peoples, great and small, That wheel between the poles."

"A princelier-looking man never stept thro' a prince's hall."

"No sound is breathed so potent to coerce And to conciliate, as their names who dare For that sweet mother-land which gave them birth Nobly to do, nobly to die."

"The golden guess Is morning-star to the full round of truth."

"My God, I would not live Save that I think this gross hard-seeming world Is our misshaping vision of the Powers Behind the world, that make our griefs our gains."

""I'll never love any but you," the morning song of the lark; "I'll never love any but you," the nightingale's hymn in the dark."

"Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed."

"So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold."

"O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!"

"Insipid as the queen upon a card."

"Mastering the lawless science of our law,— That codeless myriad of precedent, That wilderness of single instances."

"For now the poet can not die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry."

"We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times."

"More black than ash-buds in the front of March."

"Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet! Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change."

"Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace! Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul, While the stars burn, the moons increase, And the great ages onward roll."

"God gives us love. Something to love He lends us; but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone."

"As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her played, Blowing the ringlet from the braid."

"A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this, To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips."

"For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid."

"Broad-based upon her people’s will, And compass'd by the inviolate sea."

"And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet."

"This laurel greener from the brows Of him that utter'd nothing base."

"Well, Gosse, would you like to know what I think of Churton Collins? I think he's a Louse on the Locks of Literature."

"Once at the croak of a Raven who crost it, A barbarous people, Blind to the magic, And deaf to the melody, Snarl’d at and cursed me. A demon vext me, The light retreated, The landskip darken’d, The melody deaden’d, The Master whisper’d ‘Follow The Gleam.’"

"O young Mariner, You from the haven Under the sea-cliff, You that are watching The gray Magician With eyes of wonder, I am Merlin, And I am dying, I am Merlin Who follow The Gleam."

"Sharers of our glorious past, Brothers, must we part at last? Shall we not through good and ill Cleave to one another still? Britain's myriad voices call, 'Sons, be welded each and all, Into one imperial whole, One with Britain, heart and soul! One life, one flag, one fleet, one Throne!' Britons, hold your own!"

"First pledge our Queen this solemn night, Then drink to England, every guest; That man's the best Cosmopolite Who loves his native country best."

"The shell must break before the bird can fly."

"She sees the Best that glimmers thro’ the Worst, She feels the Sun is hid but for a night, She spies the summer thro’ the winter bud, She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls, She hears the lark within the songless egg, She finds the fountain where they wail’d ‘Mirage’!"

"For nothing worthy proving can be proven, Nor yet disproven: wherefore thou be wise, Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith!"

"For Knowledge is the swallow on the lake That sees and stirs the surface-shadow there But never yet hath dipt into the abysm"

"Your yën two wol slee me sodenly, I may the beautè of hem not sustene, So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene."

"Hard is his herte that loveth nought In May."

"For I am shave as nye as any frere. But yit I pray un-to youre curtesye: Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I die."

"Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocounde, That at a revel whan that I see you daunce, It is an oynement unto my wounde, Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce."

"Madame, ye ben of al beautè shryne As fer as cercled is the mappemounde; For as the cristal glorious ye shyne, And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde."

"Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat, I never thenk to ben in his prison lene; Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene."

"It is pretty generally admitted that Geoffrey Chaucer, the eminent poet of the fourteenth century, though obsessed with an almost Rooseveltian passion for the new spelling, was there with the goods when it came to profundity of thought."