To me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.
For always roaming with a hungry heart.
He is all fault who has no fault at all.
All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.