HopeSmiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering ‘it will be happier’…

And at the closing of the dayShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;The broad stream bore her far away,The Lady of Shallot.

All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.

Once in a golden hour I cast to earth a seed. Up there came a flower, The people said, a weed.

I embrace the purpose of God and the doom assigned

Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

I wither slowly in thine arms; here at the quiet limit of the world, a white hair’d shadow roaming like a dream.

Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dialer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.

Not once or twice in our fair island-story,The path of duty was the way to glory.

I am a part of all that I have met.

There rolls the deep where grew the treeO earth, what changes hast thou seen!There where the long street roars hath been.The stillness of the central sea.

Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was love.

I remainMistress of mine own self and mine own soul

A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.

A day may sink or save a realm.

My religious beliefs also defied convention, leaning towards agnosticism and pandeism.

Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, ‘It will be happier.’

Let us hush this cry of ‘Forward’, till ten thousand years have gone.

Come friends, it’s not too late to seek a newer world.

Forgive my grief for one removedThy creature whom I found so fairI trust he lives in Thee and thereI find him worthier to be loved.

A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.

In Memoriam A.H.H. Section 5I sometimes hold it half a sinTo put in words the grief I feel;For words, like Nature, half revealAnd half conceal the Soul within.But, for the unquiet heart and brain,A use in measured language lies;The sad mechanic exercise,Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.In words, like weeds, I’ll wrap me o’er,Like coarsest clothes...

Praise to our Indian brothers, and the dark face have his due!Thanks to the kindly dark faces who fought with us, faithful and few,Fought with the bravest among us, and drove them, and smote them, and slew.That ever upon the topment roof our banner in India blew.

The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.

A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.

Splendid is the flower.” Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed. And some are pretty enough, And some are poor indeed; And now again the people Call it but a weed.

the shell must break before the bird can fly.

The OakLive thy Life, Young and old,Like yon oak,Bright in spring, Living gold;Summer-rich Then; and thenAutumn-changedSoberer-hued Gold again.All his leaves Fall’n at length,Look, he stands,Trunk and bough Naked strength.

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.

What rights are those that dare not resist for them?

The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.

By blood a king, in heart a clown.

The quiet sense of something lost

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

Yet all experience is an arch wherethroughGleams that untraveled world whose margin fadesForever and forever when I move.How dull it is to pause, to make an end,To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!As though to breathe were life!

There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.

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

My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.

In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.

Never, oh! never, nothing will die;The stream flows,The wind blows,The cloud fleets,The heart beats,Nothing will die.

Who is wise in love, love most, say least.

Virtue – to be good and just -Every heart, when sifted well,Is a clot of warmer dust,Mix’d with cunning sparks of hell.- The Vision of Sin

But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills,And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me,And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’dTo dwell in presence of immortal youth,Immortal age beside immortal youth,And all I was, in ashes. – Tithonus

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves a shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,and slips into the bosom of the lake:So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip into my bosom and be lost in me.

Men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, but women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.

I fain would follow love, if that could be; I needs must follow death, who calls for me; Call and I follow, I follow! let me die.

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.