Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth; Forgive them where they fall in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. - Alfred Tennyson

So word by word, and line by line,
The dead man touch'd me from the past,
And all at once it seem'd at last
The living soul was flash'd on mine,

And mine in his was wound, and whirl'd
About empyreal heights of thought,
And came on that which is, and caught
The deep pulsations of the world,

Æonian music measuring out
The steps of Time — the shocks of Chance — The blows of Death. At length my trance
Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.

Love lieth deep; Love dwells not in lip-depths.

"Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they." — Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.