I envy not in any moods
     The captive void of noble rage,
     The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:

I envy not the beast that takes
     His license in the field of time,
     Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;

Nor, what may count itself as blest,
     The heart that never plighted troth
     But stagnates in the weeds of sloth,
Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
     I feel it, when I sorrow most;
     'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "I Envy Not In Any Moods"