Death Stands Above Me, Whispering Low I

Ah What Avails The Sceptred Race, Ah What The Form Divine! What Every Virtue, Every Grace! Rose Aylmer, All Were Thine. Rose Aylmer, Whom These Wakeful Eyes May Weep, But Never See, A Night Of Memories And Of Sighs I Consecrate To Thee.

Do Not Expect To Be Acknowledged For What You Are, Much Less For What You Would Be; Since No One Can Well Measure A Great Man But Upon The Bier.

All Schools Of Philosophy, And Almost All Authors, Are Rather To Be Frequented For Exercise Than For Weight.

There Is No More Certain Sign Of A Narrow Mind, Of Stupidity, And Of Arrogance, Than To Stand Aloof From Those Who Think Differently From Us.

Justice Is Often Pale And Melancholy; But Gratitude, Her Daughter, Is Constantly In The Flow Of Spirits And The Bloom Of Loveliness.