“Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.”

“I hold it true, whate'er befall;I feel it when I sorrow most;'Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.Verse XXVII”

“I envy not in any moodsThe captive void of noble rage,The linnet born within the cage,That never knew the summer woods:I envy not the beast that takesHis license in the field of time,Unfetter’d by the sense of crime,To whom a conscience never wakes;Nor, what may count itself as blest,The heart that never plighted trothBut stagnates in the weeds of sloth;Nor any want-begotten rest.I hold it true, whate’er befall;I feel it, when I sorrow most;‘Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.”

“I have led her home, my love, myonly friend.There is none like her, none,And never yet so warmly ran myblood,And sweetly, on and onCalming itself to the long-wished forend,Full to the banks, close on the prom-ised good.”

“And down I went to fetch my bride:But, Alice, you were ill at ease;This dress and that by turns you tried,Too fearful that you should not please.I loved you better for your fears,I knew you could not look but well;And dews, that would have fall'n in tears,I kiss'd away before they fell.”

“Dear as remembered kisses after death,And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'dOn lips that are for others; deep as love,Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;O Death in Life, the days that are no more!”

“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.”