The seas are quiet, when the winds give o'er, So calm are we when passions are no more. For then we know how vain It was to boast, Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries.

The soul's dark cottage, shattered and decayed, Lets in new light, through chinks that time has made. Stronger by weakness, Wiser, men become.

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