Love thou the rose, yet leave it on its stem

There is a pleasure which is born of pain.

For only by knowledge of that which is not Thyself shall thyself be learn'd.

Art is Nature made by Man To Man the interpreter of God.

The thing which must be, must be for the best.

Since we parted, yester eve, I do love thee, love, believe, Twelve times dearer, twelve hours longer, One dream deeper, one night stronger, One sun surer,—thus much more Than I loved thee, love, before.

The unknown Is life to love, religion, poetry.