And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.
Better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad.
Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white.
I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?
For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands.