The mirror crack'd from side to side "The curse has come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.
I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!