Oh, her heart’s adrift with one

I do not own an inch of land, But all I see is mine, — The orchard and the mowing fields, The lawns and gardens fine.

These blossoms, gathered in familiar paths, With dear companions now passed out of sight, Shall not be laid upon their graves. They live, Since love is deathless. Pleasure now nor pride Is theirs in mortal wise, but hallowing thoughts Will …

Earth is suffused, inhabited by heaven.

This is a haunted world. It hath no breeze But is the echo of some voice beloved

All things are beautiful Because of something lovelier than themselves, Which breathes within them, and will never die.

Richer am I than he who owns Great fleets and argosies; I have a share in every ship Won by the inland breeze, To loiter on yon airy road Above the apple-trees.