And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. - Lord Byron

And mine’s a bubble not blown up for praise, But just to play with, as an infant plays.

If I could always read I should never feel the want of company.

They say that Hope is happiness
But genuine Love must prize the past;
And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose first — they set the last.

And all that mem'ry loves the most
Was once our only hope to be:
And all that hope adored and lost
Hath melted into memory.

Alas! It is delusion all — The future cheats us from afar:
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.