It's man's to fight, but heaven's to give success.
Not vain the weakest, if their force unite.
Beauty! Terrible Beauty! A deathless Goddess-- so she strikes our eyes!
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,- Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies: They fall successive, and successive rise.
The hearts of great men can be changed.
down from his brow she ran his curls like thick hyacinth clusters full of blooms