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Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:

Make the low nature better by your throes!

Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

R. Browning (James Lee’s Wife).

... He knows with what strange fires He mixed this dust.

Hereditary bent

That hedges in intent

He knows, be sure, the God who shaped thy brain.

He loves the souls He made,

He knows His own hand laid

On each the mark of some ancestral stain.

Anna Reeve Aldrich.

I have lost the dream of Doing,

And the other dream of Done,

The first spring in the pursuing,

The first pride in the Begun,—

First recoil from incompletion, in the face of what is won.

E. B. Browning (The Lost Bower).

It is the saddest of things that we lose our early enthusiasms.

The other (maiden) up arose[12]

And her fair lockes, which formerly were bound

Up in one knot, she low adowne did loose:

Which, flowing long and thick her clothed around.

And the ivorie in golden mantle gowned:

So that fair spectacle from him was reft,

Yet that, which reft it, no less faire was found: