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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 829

William Ernest Henley. (1849–1903) (continued)
    It matters not how strait the gate,
  How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
  I am the captain of my soul. 1 
          To R. T. H. B.
    Life is (I think) a blunder and a shame.
          In Hospital.
          Far in the stillness a cat
Languishes loudly.
          In Hospital.
    From the winter’s gray despair,
From the summer’s golden languor,
Death, the lover of Life,
Frees us for ever.
          In Hospital.
Robert Louis Stevenson. (1850–1894)
    Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,
  Nor a friend to know me;
All I ask: the heaven above
  And the road below me.
          The Vagabond.
    In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
          Bed in Summer.
    The pleasant Land of Counterpane.
          The Land of Counterpane.
    Youth now flees on feathered foot.
          To Will H. Low.
    The world is so full of a number of things,
I ’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.
Note 1.
Arise, O Soul, and gird thee up anew,
  Though the black camel Death kneel at thy gate;
No beggar thou that thou for alms shouldst sue:
  Be the proud captain still of thine own fate.
James Benjamin Kenyon. [back]