There Is An Old Saying "well Begun

A Man Should Have The Fine Point Of His Soul Taken Off To Become Fit For This World.

And Shade The Violets, That They May Bind The Moss In Leafy Nets.

I Want A Brighter Word Than Bright

I Had A Dove And The Sweet Dove Died; And I Have Thought It Died Of Grieving: O, What Could It Grieve For? Its Feet Were Tied, With A Silken Thread Of My Own Hands' Weaving.

And There Shall Be For Thee All Soft Delight That Shadowy Thought Can Win, A Bright Torch, And A Casement Ope At Night, To Let The Warm Love In!