Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? I will pluck it from my bosom, tho' my heart be at the root - Alfred Tennyson

There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho' my lips may breathe adieu,
I cannot think the thing farewell.

And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds.

الدعاء يصنع أشياء أكثر مما يمكن أن يحلم بها العالم بأسره