What is lovely never dies, But passes into other loveliness, Star-dust, or sea-foam, or wingëd air. - Thomas Bailey Aldrich

If you chance to live in a town where the authorities cannot rest until they have destroyed every precious tree within their blighting reach, you will be especially charmed by the beauty of the streets of Portsmouth. In some parts of the town, when the chestnuts are in blossom, you would fancy yourself in a garden in fairyland.

Here is woe, a self and not the mask of woe.

What is slang in one age sometimes goes into the vocabulary of the purist in the next.