Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence. - Lord Byron

Tomorrow would have given him all,
Repaid his pangs, repair’d his fall:
Tomorrow would have been the first
Of days no more deplored or crust,
But bright, and long, and beckoning years, Seen dazzling through the mist of tears,
Guerdon of many a painful hour;
Tomorrow would have given him power
To rule, to shine, to smite, to save — And must it dawn upon his grave?

Oh, Time! Why dost not pause? Thy scythe, so dirty
With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew.
Reset it; shave more smoothly, also slower,
If but to keep thy credit as a mower.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires,-'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.