The quiet sense of something lost

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

She saw the snowy poles of moonless Mars, That marvellous round of milky light Below Orion, and those double stars Whereof the one more bright

Is circled by the other

So runs my dream, but what am I?
An infant crying in the night
An infant crying for the light
And with no language but a cry.

I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.

He makes no friends who never made a foe.