George Eliot

O May I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence: live ,In pulses stirr’d to generosity

.The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke For view there are the houses opposite Cutting the sky with one long line of wall Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch

If you sit down at set of sun ,And count the acts that you have done And, counting, find One self-denying deed, one word

,The world is great: the birds all fly from me  The stars are golden fruit upon a tree  ,All out of reach: my little sister went  .And I am lonely