The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end.
Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer, being all unblest; Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: Go by, go by.
All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.
That which we are, we are.
What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.
That which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.
All Life needs for life is possible to will.
Man is the hunter; women are the game; those sleek and shining creatures of the chase. We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; they love us for it, and we ride them down.
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.
The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
There is always change, bad customs pass and give way to better ones.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.
Woman is the lesser man.
Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.
The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.
Every man at time of Death, Would fain set forth some saying that may live After his death and better humankind; For death gives life's last word a power to live, And, lie the stone-cut epitaph, remain After the vanished voice, and speak to men.
We needs must love the highest when we see it.
So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold.
The greater person is one of courtesy.
Nature, so far as in her lies, imitates God.
The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
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