All things human change.
As the husband is, the wife is.
Ah, when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?
God and Nature met in light.
For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.
A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
For always roaming with a hungry heart.
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.
I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul
Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.
The old order changes yielding place to new.
This barren verbiage, current among men, Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.
If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?
Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again
He is all fault who has no fault at all.
Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.
He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
A day may sink or save a realm.
The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.
Every man, for the sake of the great blessed Mother in Heaven, and for the love of his own little mother on earth, should handle all womankind gently, and hold them in all Honor.
My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.
Sweet is true love though given in vain, in vain; And sweet is death who puts an end to pain: I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must be: Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me. O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. ... I fain would follow love, if that could be; I needs must follow death, who calls for me; Call and I follow, I follow! let me die.
I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)
How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
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