Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?

O that one unguarded moment! / Were it mine to live again, / All the strength of its temptation / Would appeal to me in vain.

Sometimes, I think the things we see are shadows of the things to be; that what we plan we build

I think true love is never blind, / But rather brings an added light; / An inner vision quick to find / The beauties hid from common sight.

Death comes not to the living soul, nor age to the living heart.

Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?

And though hard be the task, keep a stiff upper lip.