Arthur Hugh Clough - Amours De Voyage

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Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle,
Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them?

Arthur Hugh Clough

We are so prone to these things with our terrible notions of duty.

Arthur Hugh Clough

Rome, believe me, my friend, is like its own Monte Testaceo,
Merely a marvellous mass of broken and castaway wine-pots.

Arthur Hugh Clough