The budding rose above the rose full blown.
Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.