Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.

What rights are those that dare not resist for them?

So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not

Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.

Through the ages one increasing purpose runs.

She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.