The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.

Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.

For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.

It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.

Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!

And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell.