I that have love and no more Give you but love of you, sweet; He that hath more, let him give; He that hath wings, let him soar; Mine is the heart at your feet Here, that must love you to live.
Then star nor sun shall waken, Nor any change of light: Nor sound of waters shaken, Nor any sound or sight: Nor wintry leaves nor vernal; Nor days nor things diurnal; Only the sleep eternal In an eternal night.
Love laid his sleepless head On a thorny rose bed: And his eyes with tears were red, And pale his lips as the dead.
At the door of life by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than death.
I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, Change as the winds change, veer in the tide.
For whom all winds are quiet as the sun,/ All waters as the shore.
The highest spiritual quality, the noblest property of mind a man can have, is this of loyalty.
I dore not always touch her, lest the kiss Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss, Brief, bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin; Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.
My loss may shine yet goodlier than your gain When Time and God give judgment.
The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog.
For words divide and rend But silence is most noble till the end.
There grows No herb of help to heal a coward heart.
Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.
The beast faith lives on its own dung.
Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die.
Fruits fail and love dies and time ranges;Thou art fed with perpetual breath, and alive after infinite changes,And fresh from the kisses of death,Of langours rekindled and rallied, Of barren delights and unclean,Things monstrous and fruitless, a pallidAnd poisonous queen.
The sun is all about the world we see, the breath and strength of every spring.
Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran .
And lo, between the sundawn and the sun His day's work and his night's work are undone: And lo, between the nightfall and the light, He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.
The loves and hours of the life of a man, They are swift and sad, being born of the sea.
I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and no other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me.
Stately, kindly, lordly friend Condescend Here to sit by me.
Sorrow, on wing through the world for ever, Here and there for awhile would borrow Rest, if rest might haply deliver Sorrow.
Not with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded at last.
In fierce March weather White waves break tether, And whirled together At either hand, Like weeds uplifted, The tree-trunks rifted In spars are drifted, Like foam or sand.
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