Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a lovelorn heart pursuing, Read you not the wrong you're doing In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing; Wed or cease to woo.

For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.

To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.

O leave this barren spot to me! Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.

What millions died that Caesar might be great!

Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.

To live in the hearts of others is not to die