The thoughts of others Were light and fleeting, Of lovers' meeting Or luck or fame. Mine were of trouble, And mine were steady; So I was ready When trouble came.

I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.

You smile upon your friend to-day, To-day his ills are over; You hearken to the lover's say, And happy is the lover. 'Tis late to hearken, late to smile, But better late than never: I shall have lived a little while Before I die for ever.

I am not a pessimist but a pejorist (as George Eliot said she was not an optimist but a meliorist); and that philosophy is founded on my observation of the world, not on anything so trivial and irrelevant as personal history.

All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.

Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out; but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.

And malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man.