“The woman's cause is man's. They rise or sinkTogether. Dwarf'd or godlike, bound or free; miserable, How shall men grow?--Let her beAll that not harms distinctive womanhood.”

“I hold it truth, with him who singsTo one clear harp in divers tones,That men may rise on stepping-stonesOf their dead selves to higher things.”

“I know her by her angry air, Her brightblack eyes, her brightblack hair, Her rapid laughters wild and shrill, As laughter of the woodpecker From the bosom of a hill. 'Tis Kate--she sayeth what she will; For Kate hath an unbridled tongue, Clear as the twanging of a harp. Her heart is like a throbbing star. Kate hath a spirit ever strung Like a new bow, and bright and sharp As edges of the scymetar. Whence shall she take a fitting mate? For Kate no common love will feel; My woman-soldier, gallant Kate, As pure and true as blades of steel. Kate saith "the world is void of might". Kate saith "the men are gilded flies". Kate snaps her fingers at my vows; Kate will not hear of lover's sighs. I would I were an armèd knight, Far famed for wellwon enterprise, And wearing on my swarthy brows The garland of new-wreathed emprise: For in a moment I would pierce The blackest files of clanging fight, And strongly strike to left and right, In dreaming of my lady's eyes. Oh! Kate loves well the bold and fierce; But none are bold enough for Kate, She cannot find a fitting mate.”

“Let me go: take back thy gift:Why should a man desire in any wayTo vary from the kindly race of men,Or pass beyond the goal of ordinanceWhere all should pause, as is most meet for all?...Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,And make me tremble lest a saying learnt,In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true?‘The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.’- Tithonus”

“And this gray spirit yearning in desireTo follow knowledge like a sinking star,Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. ”

“A man had given all other bliss,And all his worldly worth for thisTo waste his whole heart in one kissUpon her perfect lips.”

“Tis a morning pure and sweet,And a dewy splendour fallsOn the little flower that clingsTo the turrets and the walls;'Tis a morning pure and sweet,And the light and shadow fleet;She is walking in the meadow,And the woodland echo rings;In a moment we shall meet;She is singing in the meadow,And the rivulet at her feetRipples on in light and shadowTo the ballad that she sings.”