Who is my foe I must but hate as one
Whom I may yet call Friend: and him who loves me
Will I but serve and cherish as a man
Whose love is not abiding. Few be they
Who, reaching friendship’s port, have there found rest.
Sophocles (Ajax).
This is from C. S. Calverley’s fine translation of the speech of Ajax.
A maiden’s heart is as champagne, ever aspiring and struggling upwards,
And it needeth that its motions be checked by the silvered cork of Propriety: