What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
How fares it with the happy dead?
Men may come and men may go but I go on forever.
So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not
As the husband is, the wife is.