If you get simple beauty and naught else, you get about the best thing God invents.
I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.
I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.
I count life just a stuff to try the soul's strength on.
How good is man's life, the mere living! How fit to employ all the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!
Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.
God is the perfect poet.
Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds?
Love is energy of life.
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. Or what's a heaven for?
A minute's success pays the failure of years.
But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.
Faultless to a fault.
So, fall asleep love, loved by me... for I know love, I am loved by thee.