Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest, but let my last days be my best.
But facts are facts and flinch not.
Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe, all were for me, in the kiss of one girl.
How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
Talent should minister to genius.
To me at least was never evening yet, but seemed far beautifuller than its day.