A little more than kin, and less than kind.
For this relief, much thanks
Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.
What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life
Tears water our growth.