The very first
Of human life must spring from woman's breast,
Your first small words are taught you from her lips,
Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs
Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing,
When men have shrunk from the ignoble care
Of watching the last hour of him who led them.
Sardanapalus, A. 1.
Soft, as the memory of buried love;
Pure, as the prayer which childhood wafts above