Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Follow the deer? Follow the Christ the King. Live pure, speak true,right wrong, Follow the King-- Else, wherefore born?
I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul