The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss had brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more.

Tho' much is taken, much abides.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.

Science grows and Beauty dwindles.

Who is wise in love, love most, say least.

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

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