Here and there a cloud is floating

But "God was still behind the skies," As stricken Agatha once had said, And He anoints the aiming spear Of grief, and blesses the bowing head.

The loveless are the unblest, Frosts transfix their grief, Like a wreck on a reef.

Childhood's the soul's first gala-day.

While the butter-cups toss golden heads, Consequential bees alight, Upon the downy saffron beds Of the dandelion, Fit for kings to lie on;There, a lazy butterfly, Like a thing adrift from Eden,

Hamlet most brings home to us at once the sense of the soul's infinity, and the sense of the doom which not only circumscribes that infinity but appears to be its offspring.

You cannot dictate to any man what shall be his morality or his own religion. He must make his own choice. Your attempts to impose total sexual abstinence on him he regards as a meddlesome and impertinent interference with the expression …