Where all have gone, and all must go To be the nothing that I was 'Ere born to life and living woe! - Lord Byron

Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art — An unseen seraph, we believe in thee,
A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart,
But never yet hath seen, nor e’er shall see
The naked eye, thy form, as it should be;
The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven,
Even with its own desiring phantasy,
And to a thought such shape and image given,
As haunts the unquench’d soul — parch’d — wearied — wrung — and riven.

For freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.

"Júlia lutou, pensou, se arrependeu (A little still she strove and much repented,)
E dizendo "Não cedo!", ela cedeu. (And whispering, 'I will ne'er consent' - consented.)"