No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
And there is even a happiness That makes the heart afraid.
The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulations
I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky; It was a childish ignorance, But now 't is little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.