Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.
He mourns the dead who lives as they desire.
On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long.
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.