There's Nothing Great Nor Small, Has Said

For 'tis Not In Mere Death That Men Die Most.

But Love Me For Love's Sake, That Evermore Thou May'st Love On, Through Love's Eternity.

You May Write Twenty Lines One Day--or Even Three Like Euripides In Three Days--and A Hundred Lines In One More Day--and Yet On The Hundred, May Have Been Expended As Much Good Work, As On The Twenty And The Three.

Experience, Like A Pale Musician, Holds A Dulcimer Of Patience In His Hand.

The Little Cares That Fretted Me, I Lost Them Yesterday Among The Fields Above The Sea, Among The Winds At Play.