The wheels of life Stand never idle, but go always round. - <i>To the Duke of Wellington</i> - Matthew Arnold

Such a price The Gods exact for song; To become what we sing.

Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece, Long since, saw Byron’s struggle cease.

Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.