Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.

Trust me not at all, or all in all.

As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

Things seen are mightier than things heard.