One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.

What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?

Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.

Gorgonised me from head to foot With a stony British stare.

Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.

Things seen are mightier than things heard.

O last regret, regret can die!