Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.
Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?
The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!
A lion may die of an ass's kick.
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!