That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.

And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.

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

I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.

Follow the deer? Follow the Christ the King. Live pure, speak true,right wrong, Follow the King-- Else, wherefore born?

The year is dying in the night.

A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.