“Our mortal race
Is never blest.
There’s no such case
As perfect rest;
Some petty blight
Asserts its sway.
Some crumbled rose-leaf light
Is always in the way!”
Is never blest.
There’s no such case
As perfect rest;
Some petty blight
Asserts its sway.
Some crumbled rose-leaf light
Is always in the way!”
–W.S. Gilbert. Utopia, Limited. Act I. 1893.
