God and Nature met in light.
And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Either sex alone is half itself.
Nature is one with rapine, a harm no preacher can heal; The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow speared by the shrike, And the whole little wood where I sit is a world of plunder and prey.
Any man that walks the mead In bud, or blade, or bloom, may find, According as his humors lead, A meaning suited to his mind.
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower-but if I could understand What you are, root and all, all in all, I should know what God and man is.
Better not be at all than not be noble.
If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?
Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.
On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.
Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.