Therefore the earth is dark to me, the sunlight blackness

Life is a play acted by dying men, Where, if its heroes seem to foot it well And go light-tongued without grimace of pain, Death will be found anon. And who shall tell Which part was saddest, or in youth or age, When the tired actor stops …

Dark to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens. Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars? Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city. A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain.

I knew the Spring was come. I knew it even Better than all by this, that through my chase In bush and stone and hill and sea and heaven I seem'd to see and follow still your face. Your face my quarry was. For it I rode, My horse a thing of …

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 …

And so we shake The snowy flake From cedar and myrtle fair; And the boughs that nod On the hills of God, We raise to his glory there.