Nature, red in tooth and claw.

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.

She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.

Science grows and Beauty dwindles.

Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.