What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!
Our purpose is to grow up and become love
Men of England! who inheritRights that cost your sires their blood.
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.