Alfred lord tennyson
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
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Authority forgets a dying king.
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He makes no friends who never made a foe.
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Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.
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So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
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Believe me, than in half the creeds.
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In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.
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The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.
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Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was love.
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Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
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