Do duty, and there devotion stops?
Leave such an abyss of malt and hops
Embellied in butts which bungs still glue?
You hate your bard! A fig for your rage!
Free him from cellarage!
R. Browning (Epilogue to Pacchiarotto and other Poems).
Though the seasons of man full of losses
Make empty the years full of youth,
If but one thing be constant in crosses,