Maxioms by Lord Alfred Tennyson
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.
Gone--flitted away,
Taken the stars from the night and the sun
From the day!
read more
Gone--flitted away,
Taken the stars from the night and the sun
From the day!
Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
Well, well, be it so, thou strongest their of all,
For thou hast stolen my will, and made it read more
Well, well, be it so, thou strongest their of all,
For thou hast stolen my will, and made it thine.
And every dew-drop paints a bow.
And every dew-drop paints a bow.
Ours not to reason why Ours but to do and die.
Ours not to reason why Ours but to do and die.
