A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas.
The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.
Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
For this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.