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- "And love will stay, a summer's day!" (en)
- A long wave rippled up the strand, (en)
- Ah, well! sweet summer's past and gone,— (en)
- And gives her secret to his hands. (en)
- And greets her while his heart rejoices. (en)
- And laughed—"O doubting heart, have peace! (en)
- And love, perchance, shuns wintry weather,— (en)
- And plucked a sea-shell from the sand; (en)
- And sees, each morn, the world arise (en)
- And so the pretty dears are flown (en)
- And the eyes closed to open not again (en)
- Done with all yearning, done with all regret, (en)
- Doubt, fear, hope, sorrow, all forever past; (en)
- "Were I to write what I know, the book would be too sensational to print, but were I to write what I think proper, it would be too dull to read." (en)
- He hears the laughter of her rills, (en)
- He walks with God upon the hills! (en)
- Her melodies of many voices, (en)
- I smile: this little pearly-lined, (en)
- It must be sweet to slumber and forget; (en)
- It must be sweet, O thou, my dead, to lie (en)
- It must be sweet, it must be very sweet! (en)
- Makes answer as a little child; (en)
- New-bathed in light of paradise. (en)
- On desolate dawn or dreariness of night. (en)
- On lightsome, careless wings together. (en)
- Past all the hours, or slow of wing or fleet— (en)
- Pink-veined shell she gave to me, (en)
- Sealed with the seal of the great mystery, (en)
- She flashed a white hand through the spray (en)
- She to his spirit undefiled, (en)
- Still sing its love, the sea. (en)
- The life-long struggle ended; ended quite (en)
- The lips that nothing answer, nothing ask. (en)
- The weariness of patience, and of pain, (en)
- This fond, remembering shell will cease (en)
- To have the poor tired heart so still at last; (en)
- To sing its love, the sea." (en)
- Unveiled before his eyes she stands, (en)
- When faith of mine shall fail to thee (en)
- With foolish, faithful lips to find (en)
- With hands that folded are from every task; (en)
- "...I named you 'Noble'. That is what you were to me—noble. That was the feeling I got from you. Oh, yes, I got, also, the feeling of sorrow and suffering, but dominating them, always riding above all, was noble. No woman has so affected me to the extent you did. I was only a little lad. I knew absolutely nothing about you. Yet in all the years that have passed I have met no woman so noble as you." (en)
- —Ina Coolbrith, on the absence of an autobiography (en)
- —Jack London, in a letter to Coolbrith (en)
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