Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die. - Algernon Charles Swinburne

So Tristram looked on Iseult face to face
and knew not, and she knew not. The last time — The last that should be told in any rhyme
Heard anywhere on mouths of singing men
That ever should sing praise of them again;
The last hour of their hurtless hearts at rest,
The last that peace should touch them, breast to breast,
The last that sorrow far from them should sit,
This last was with them, and they knew not it.

Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.

Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat, They stretch and spread and wink
Their ten soft buds that part and meet.