That he, in his developed manhood, stood A little sunburnt by the glare of life; While I . . it seemed no sun had shone on me.

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in't.

Nay, if there's room for poets in the world A little overgrown, (I think there is) Their sole work is to represent the age, Their age, not Charlemagne's,-this …

If I married him, I would not dare to call my soul my own, Which so he had bought and paid for: every thought And every heart-beat down there in the bill,- Not…

I know too well the poison and the sting Of things too sweet.

A good poet is someone who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by lightning five or six times; a dozen or two dozen times and…

On est souvent trompe en amour, souvent blesse et souvent malheureux; mais on aime, et quand on est sur le bord de sa tombe, on se retourne pour regarder en ar…