Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.
God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.
The Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.
A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.
Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.