The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.
Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er.
Time rolls his ceaseless course.
What skilful limner e'er would choose To paint the rainbow's varying hues, Unless to mortal it were given To dip his brush in dyes of heaven?
Faces that have charmed us the most escape us the soonest.
And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.