Tis Visible Silence, Still As The Hour-glass.

This Sunlight Shames November Where He Grieves In Dead Red Leaves, And Will Not Let Him Shun The Day, Though Bough With Bough Be Overrun. But With A Blessing Every Glade Receives High Salutation.

Beauty Without The Beloved Is A Like A Sword Through The Heart.

Sometimes Thou Seem'st Not As Thyself Alone, But As The Meaning Of All Things That Are.

Sudden Light I Have Been Here Before, But When Or How I Cannot Tell: I Know The Grass Beyond The Door, The Sweet Keen Smell, The Sighing Sound, The Light Around The Shore.

The Sea Hath No King But God Alone.