Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.
The old order changes yielding place to new.
What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.
Faith is believing what we cannot prove.
Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.
Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.