Tis Visible Silence, Still As The Hour-glass.

Look In My Face; My Name Is Might-have-been; I Am Also Call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell.

You Have Been Mine Before - How Long Ago I May Not Know: But Just When At That Swallow's Soar, Your Neck Turned So, Some Veil Did Fall, - I Knew It All Of Yore.

Sometimes Thou Seem'st Not As Thyself Alone, But As The Meaning Of All Things That Are.

The Worst Moment For The Atheist Is When He Is Really Thankful And Has Nobody To Thank.

So Spring Comes Merry Towards Me Here, But Earns No Answering Smile From Me, Whose Life Is Twin'd With The Dead Boughs That Winter Still Must Bind, And Whom Today The Spring No More Concerns. Behold, This Crocus Is A Withering Flame; This Snowdrop, Snow; This Apple-blossom's Part To Breed The Fruit That Breeds The Serpent's Art. Nay, For These Spring-flowers, Turn Thy Face From Them, Nor Stay Till On The Year's Last Lily-stem The White Cup Shrivels Round The Golden Heart.