Weep not that the world changes-did it keep A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.

Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase Are fruits of innocence and blessedness.

And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

They talk of short-lived pleasures-be it so- pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured pain Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go. The fiercest agonies have…

It no longer makes me cry and die and tear myself to see her go because everything goes away from me like that now - girls, visions, anything, just in the same…

Accept loss forever

So we die before our own eyes; so we see some chapters of our lives come to their natural end.