"Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore—but was I sober when I swore? And then—and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My spirit will not all renounce her lore."

"How many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that Hour of thine, When, in the Tavern, thou didst set thy Seal To that dread Bond which binds thee up to mine!"

"Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And dwell with the Divine, shall it abide In Sin and Error while the Flesh endures, And still rebel, howe'er the Spirit chide?"

"The true philosopher is he who doubts everything, and believes nothing."

"Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears To-day of past Regrets and future Fears: To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years."