The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.

Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.

Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so; 'tis but what we in our autumn do.

Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly, Of sad distrust and jealousy.

Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.