“O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wished, the trysted hour.”

“This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best.
Night, sleep, and the stars.”

“Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.”

“They say, O my God, that I am mad because I see no fault in Thee; but if I am indeed mad with Thy love, I do not wish to recover my sanity.”

“That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane.”

“Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O.”

“There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.”

“Look thy last on all things lovely,
Every hour—let no night
Seal thy sense in deathly slumber
Till to delight
Thou hast paid thy utmost blessing.”

“We stay this way until twilight colours the window and the hour calls me home”

“O for a single hour of that Dundee,
Who on that day the word of onset gave!”