All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.

Finds progress, man’s distinctive mark alone, Not God’s, and not the beast’s; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.

Measure your mind’s height by the shade it casts.

God’s justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.

So, fall asleep love, loved by me… for I know love, I am loved by thee.

Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away.

A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.

‘Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do.

Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

Why comes temptation but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph?

But how carve way i’ the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.

Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, Or what’s a heaven for?

Autumn wins you best by this, its mute Appeal to sympathy for its decay.

No, when the fight begins within himself, A man’s worth something.

Love, hope, fear, faith – these make humanity; These are its sign and note and character.

The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o’er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.

Ignorance is not innocence but sin.

Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.

Every one soon or late comes round by Rome.

It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.