To the sick man the physician when he enters seems to have three
faces, those of a man, a read more

To the sick man the physician when he enters seems to have three
faces, those of a man, a devil, a god. When the physician first
comes and announces the safety of the patient, then the sick man
says: "Behold a God or a guardian angel!"
[Lat., Intrantis medici facies tres esse videntur
Aegrotanti; hominis, Daemonis, atque Dei.
Cum primum accessit medicus dixitque salutem,
En Deus aut custos angelus, aeger ait.]

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her
cunning.

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her
cunning.

God and I both knew what it meant once; now God alone knows.

God and I both knew what it meant once; now God alone knows.

The tumult and the shouting dies,
The captains and the kings depart;
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
read more

The tumult and the shouting dies,
The captains and the kings depart;
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
A humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet
Lest we forget,--lest we forget.

Forgotten? No, we never do forget:
We let the years go; wash them clean with tears,
Leave read more

Forgotten? No, we never do forget:
We let the years go; wash them clean with tears,
Leave them to bleach out in the open day,
Or lock them careful by, like dead friends' clothes,
Till we shall dare unfold them without pain,--
But we forget not, never can forget.

Go, forget me--why should sorrow
O'er that brow a shadow fling?
Go, forget me--and to-morrow
read more

Go, forget me--why should sorrow
O'er that brow a shadow fling?
Go, forget me--and to-morrow
Brightly smile and sweetly sing.
Smile--though I shall not be near thee;
Sing--though I shall never hear thee.

Nobody is forgotten when it is convenient to remember him.

Nobody is forgotten when it is convenient to remember him.

All things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams.

All things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams.

We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not read more

We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.