It is the little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.

Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

Trust me not at all, or all in all.

But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus

A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.

Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.

The woman is so hard Upon the woman.