Of course poets have morals and manners of their own, and custom is no argument with them.

The sudden disappointment of a hope leaves a scar which the ultimate fulfillment of that hope never entirely removes.

Many besides Angel have learnt that the magnitude of lives is not as to their external displacements but as to their subjective experiences.

On a Fine Morning”
in Poems of the Past and the Present (1901)

WHENCE comes Solace?--Not from seeing
What is doing, suffering, being,
Not from noting Life’s conditions,
Nor from heeding Time’s monitions;
But in cleaving to the Dream,
And in gazing at the gleam
Whereby gray things golden seem.

This do I this heyday, holding
Shadows but as lights unfolding,
As no specious show this moment
With its iris-hued embowment;
But as nothing other than
Part of a benignant plan;
Proof that earth was made for man.

The sky was clear - remarkably clear - and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.

Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down you'd treat if met where any bar is, or help to half-a-crown.