“Stone, steel, dominions pass,Faith too, no wonder;So leave alone the grassThat I am under.”

“Along the field as we came byA year ago, my love and I,The aspen over stile and stoneWas talking to itself alone.'Oh who are these that kiss and pass?A country lover and his lass;Two lovers looking to be wed;And time shall put them both to bed,But she shall lie with earth above,And he beside another love.'And sure enough beneath the treeThere walks another love with me, And overhead the aspen heavesIts rainy-sounding silver leaves;And I spell nothing in their stir,But now perhaps they speak to her,And plain for her to understandThey talk about a time at handWhen I shall sleep with clover clad,And she beside another lad.”

“Who made the world I cannot tell;'Tis made, and here I am in hell.”

“When I examine my mind and try to discern clearly in the matter, I cannot satisfy myself that there are any such things as poetical ideas. No truth, it seems to me, is too precious, no observation too profound, and no sentiment too exalted to be expressed in prose. The utmost I could admit is that some ideas do, while others do not, lend themselves kindly to poetical expression; and that those receive from poetry an enhancement which glorifies and almost transfigures them, and which is not perceived to be a separate thing except by analysis.”

“They say my verse is sad: no wonder.Its narrow measure spansRue for eternity, and sorrowNot mine, but man'sThis is for all ill-treated fellowsUnborn and unbegot,For them to read when they're in troubleAnd I am not.”

“Because I liked you betterThan suits a man to say,It irked you, and I promisedI'd throw the thought away.To put the world between usWe parted stiff and dry:'Farewell,' said you, 'forget me.''Fare well, I will,' said I.If e'er, where clover whitensThe dead man's knoll, you pass,And no tall flower to meet youStarts in the trefoiled grass,Halt by the headstone shadingThe heart you have not stirred,And say the lad that loved youWas one that kept his word.”

“When I Was One-And-TwentyWhen I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say,“Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away;Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free.”But I was one-and-twenty, No use to talk to me.When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again,“The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain;’Tis paid with sighs a plenty And sold for endless rue.”And I am two-and-twenty, And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.”