Youth! Youth! How Buoyant Are

I Don't Want To Die. But I Want To Be Dead.

Work Is Its Own Best Earthly Meed, Else Have We None More Than The Sea-born Throng Who Wrought Those Marvellous Isles That Bloom Afar.

From Henceforth Thou Shalt Learn That There Is Love To Long For, Pureness To Desire, A Mount Of Consecration It Were Good To Scale.

You Moon, Have You Done Something Wrong In Heaven / That God Has Hidden Your Face?

What Is Thy Thought? There Is No Miracle? There Is A Great One, Which Thou Hast Not Read, And Never Shalt Escape. Thyself, O Man, Thou Art The Miracle. Ay, Thou Thyself, Being In The World And Of The World, Thyself, Hast Breathed In Breath From Him That Made The World. Thou Art Thy Father's Copy Of Himself,-- Thou Art Thy Father's Miracle.