Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.
God made thee good as thou art beautiful.
Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.
Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.
Better not to be at all Than not to be noble.
Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.
If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.
I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.
For love reflects the thing beloved.
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
Silence, beautiful voice.
Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
A beam in darkness: let it grow.
Attain the unattainable.
He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
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.
And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.
Love is the only gold.
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.
The quiet sense of something lost
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