Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever . . .
Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow weeds appears, Laden with unhonoured years, Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse?
O, my luve is like a red, red rose.
Dare to be honest and fear no labor.
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.--Robert Burns
I have a hundred times wished that one could resign life as an officer resigns a commission.