Such ever was love's way; to rise, it stoops

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.

All is not gold that glitters,
Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters

We rise by lifting others.

Still ailing, Wind? Wilt be appeased or no?

Reads verse and thinks she understands.