With you for mast and sail and flag,
And anchor never known to drag,
Death’s narrow but oppressive sea
Looks not unnavigable to me.
“I ran upon life unknowing, without or science or art,
I found the first pretty maiden but she was a harlot at heart;
I wandered about the woodland after the melting of snow,
‘Here is the first pretty snowdrop’ — and it was the dung of a crow!”
Alfred, Lord Tennyson