Work Is Its Own Best Earthly Meed,

And The Guelder Rose In A Great Stillness Dropped, And Ever Dropped, Her Wealth About Her Feet.

Man Is The Miracle In Nature. God Is The One Miracle To Man. Behold, "there Is A God," Thou Sayest. Thou Sayest Well: In That Thou Sayest All. To Be Is More Of Wonderful, Than Being, To Have Wrought, Or Reigned, Or Rested.

Her Face Betokened All Things Dear And Good, The Light Of Somewhat Yet To Come Was There Asleep, And Waiting For The Opening Day, When Childish Thoughts, Like Flowers Would Drift Away.

How Short Our Happy Days Appear! How Long The Sorrowful!

The Moon Is Bleached As White As Wool, And Just Dropping Under; Every Star Is Gone But Three, And They Hang Far Asunder,-- There's A Sea-ghost All In Gray, A Tall Shape Of Wonder!