LUCIFER: I pity thee who lovest what must perish. CAIN: And I thee who lov'st nothing - Lord Byron

For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea; But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me? Perchance my dog will whine in vain Till fed by stranger hands; But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands.

Time! On whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die

He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,—
The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress,
Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.