The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.

Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Courtesy wins woman all as well. As valor may, but he that closes both is perfect.

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

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.

If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to faith beyond the forms of faith; She reels not at the storm of warring words; She brightens at the clash of "Yes" and "No"; She sees the best that glimmers through the worst; She feels the sun is hid for the night; She spies the summer through the winter bud; She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls; She hears the lark within the songless egg; She finds the fountain where they wailed "Mirage!"