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I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.
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Love is the only gold.
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The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
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Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.
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A day may sink or save a realm.
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In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold.
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Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.
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O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
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A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.
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The quiet sense of something lost.
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Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
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And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
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What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.
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Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.
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We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.
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Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
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The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; The leaf is dead, the yearning past away; New leaf, new life--the days of frost are o'er; New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love--free field--we love but while we may.
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Nature is one with rapine, a harm no preacher can heal; The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow speared by the shrike, And the whole little wood where I sit is a world of plunder and prey.
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And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, moulding men.
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Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.
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There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.
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No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.
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In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.
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I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.