That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

A perfect Woman; nobly plann'd, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light.

Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

What we need is not the will to believe, but the wish to find out.

The heavy weight of many a weary day Not mine, and such as were not made for me.