A world of sorrow in a tear-drop's span.
XLI.
A moment's thinking is an hour in words,—
An hour of words is little for some woes;
Too little breathing a long life affords
For love to paint itself by perfect shows;
Then let his love and grief unwrong'd lie dumb,
Whilst Fear, and that it fears, together come.
XLII.
As when the crew, hard by some jutty cape,