God is the perfect poet.
Earth changes but thy soul and God stand sure.
A minute’s success pays the failure of years.
So fall asleep love loved by me… for I know love I am loved by thee.
Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
Like dogs in a wheel birds in a cage or squirrels in a chain ambitious men still climb and climb with great labor and incessant anxiety but never reach the top.
White shall not neutralize the black nor good compensate bad in man absolve him so: life’s business being just the terrible choice.
It is the glory and good of Art That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth to mouths like mine at least.
Thou art my single day God lends to leaven What were all earth else with a feel of heaven.
I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.
If you get simple beauty and naught else you get about the best thing God invents.
I count life just a stuff to try the soul’s strength on.
The sea heaves up hangs loaded o’er the land Breaks there and buries its tumultuous strength.
Fail I alone in words and deeds? Why all men strive and who succeeds?
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.
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.