"Not grace to bar what is not bliss, Nor flight from all distress, but this: The grace that orders our trouble and pain, And then, in the darkness, is there to sustain."

Next Quote

Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist? -ah! never-never.

— Lord Byron