Change lays her hand not upon the truth.

Not with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded at last.

My loss may shine yet goodlier than your gain When Time and God give judgment.

There lived a singer in France of old By the tideless dolorous midland sea. In a land of sand and rain and gold There shone one woman, and none but she.

Hope knows not if fear speaks truth, nor fear whether hope be blind as she.

Stately, kindly, lordly friend Condescend Here to sit by me.

There is no safety-net to protect against attraction.