I hold it true,what'er befallI feel it, when I sorrow most'Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on for ever.
Ours not to reason why Ours but to do and die.
Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.
There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.
Cleave never to the sunnier side of doubt.
Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.
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