There is no sorrow like a love denied. Nor any joy like love that has its will.

And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and sold, The wealth of nations is men, not silk and cotton and gold.

The East and the West in the spring of the world shall blend / As a man and a woman that plight / Their troth in the warm spring night.

There is no sorrow like a love denied. Nor any joy like love that has its will.

Who would not rather flounder in the fight than not have known the glory of the fray?

I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall be high, I only know it shall be great.

Our cheer goes back to them, the valiant dead! Laurels and roses on their graves to-day, lilies and laurels over them we lay, and violets o'er each unforgotten head.