The stars of heaven are free because In amplitude of liberty Their joy is to obey the laws. - William Watson

The after-silence, when the feast is o'er,
And void the places where the minstrels stood,
Differs in nought from what hath been before,
And is nor ill nor good.

The Poet gathers fruit from every tree,
Yea, grapes from thorns and figs from thistles he.
Pluck'd by his hand, the basest weed that grows
Towers to a lily, reddens to a rose.

April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!