She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room

Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last -- far off -- at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.

Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

She saw the snowy poles of moonless Mars, That marvellous round of milky light Below Orion, and those double stars Whereof the one more bright Is circled by the other

Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

Brothers in Art: a friendship so complete

And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, moulding men.

But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound or foam, when that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home.

This madness has come on us for our sins.

In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All around the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.

Seal'd her minefrom her first sweet breath Mine, and mine by right, from birth till death Mine, mine-our fathers have sworn.

The old order changes, giving place to the new... least on good custom should corrupts the world.

Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone

Yet I thought I saw her stand, A shadow there at my feet, High over the shadowy land.

The deep moans round with many voices.

Maud in the light of her youth and her grace, Singing of Death, and of Honor that cannot die, Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean, And myself so languid and base.

I fain would follow love, if that could be; I needs must follow death, who calls for me; Call and I follow, I follow! let me die.

May make my heart as a milestone, set my face as a flint, cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust.

I follow up the quest despite of day and night and death and hell.

Not once or twice in our fair island-story, The path of duty was the way to glory.

And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.

In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall...

We needs must love the highest when we see it.

Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.

Who is wise in love, love most, say least.

That which we are, we are.

Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees.

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let thy voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For men may come and men may go, but I go on forever...

For this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.

And what delights can equal those That stir the spirit's inner deeps, When one that loves but knows not, reaps A truth from one that loves and knows?

What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?

My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.

And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say?

And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use! As tho’ to breathe were life!

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.

I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.

And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.

Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.

The year is dying in the night.

Virtue - to be good and just - Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell. - The Vision of Sin