Life is but a day; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit.
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.
There is a budding morrow in midnight.
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed.
Health is the greatest of blessings - with health and hope we should be content to live.
I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.