God made thee good as thou art beautiful.
No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.
The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.
Battering the gates of heaven with the storms of prayer.
The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.
Better not to be at all Than not to be noble.
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: This is the curse of time.
So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. 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.
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point. ... Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. ... Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old.
There is always change, bad customs pass and give way to better ones.
Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
Attain the unattainable.
There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear; I hear;" And the lily whispers, "I wait."
The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss had brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more.
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
I found Him in the shining of the stars.
I loved you, and my love had no return, And therefore my true love has been my death.
Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
...and our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
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