Robert Bridges

When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.

— Robert Bridges

When Death to either shall come -- I pray it be first to me.

— Robert Bridges

Now thin mists temper the slow-ripening beams Of the September sun: his golden gleams On gaudy flowers shine, that prank the rows Of high-grown hollyhocks, and all tall shows That Autumn flaunteth in his bushy bowers.

— Robert Bridges

Spring goeth all in white Crowned with milk-white may: In fleecy flocks of light O'er heaven the white clouds stray:

— Robert Bridges

Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripen'd something of our happiness.

— Robert Bridges

Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee, With promise of strength and manhood full and fair! Though cold and stark and bare, The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee.

— Robert Bridges