He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.
...lest too light winning make the prize light.
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
People’s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass.
What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.