Never, believe me, Appear the Immortals, Never alone. - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

They stood aloof, the scars remaining,—
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder:
A dreary sea now flows between.

But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he— 'I love my Love, and my Love loves me!'

How seldom, Friend! a good great man inherits Honour or wealth, with all his worth and pains! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits, If any man obtain that which he merits, Or any merit that which he obtains. . For shame, dear Friend! renounce this canting strain! … Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man? Three treasures, and ,
And , regular as infants' breath;
And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,
, his , and the Angel .