And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
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.
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.
The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink Together.