Beauty,--the fading rainbow's pride.
I cannot spare the luxury of believing that all things beautiful are what they seem.
I sorrow that all fair things must decay.
The wild-flower wreath of feeling, the sunbeam of the heart.
What is man's love? His vows are broke even while his parting kiss is warm.
They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty. - Fitz