Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.

A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.

No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.

I sometimes find it half a sin, To put to words the grief i feel, For words like nature,half reveal, and half conceal the soul within.

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.