Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.

You don't always win your battles, but it's good to know you fought.

You don't always win your battles, but it's good to know you fought.

Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play!

With silence only as their benediction, God's angels come Where in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb!

How dwarfed against his manliness she sees the poor pretension, the wants, the aims, the follies, born of fashion and convention!