Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare.

Love Is Not All: It Is Not Meat Nor Drink Nor Slumber Nor A Roof Against The Rain; Nor Yet A Floating Spar To Men That Sink.

Beauty In All Things-no, We Cannot Hope For That; But Some Place Set Apart For It.

Please Give Me Some Good Advice In Your Next Letter. I Promise Not To Follow It.

L Am Not Resigned To The Shutting Away Of Loving Hearts In The Hard Ground. So It Is, And So It Will Be, For So It Has Been, Time Out Of Mind: Into The Darkness They Go, The Wise And The Lovely. Crowned With Lilies And With Laurel They Go; But I Am Not Resigned.

She Is Neither Pink Nor Pale, And She Never Will Be All Mine; She Learned Her Hands In A Fairy-tale, And Her Mouth On A Valentine. She Has More Hair Than She Needs; In The Sun ’tis A Woe To Me! And Her Voice Is A String Of Colored Beads, Or Steps Leading Into The Sea. She Loves Me All That She Can, And Her Ways To My Ways Resign; But She Was Not Made For Any Man, And She Never Will Be All Mine.