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

Forgive my grief for one removed Thy creature whom I found so fair I trust he lives in Thee and there I find him worthier to be loved.

To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds, Until they won her; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But teach high thought, and aimable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes man.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

But every page having an ample marge, And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little blot.

Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.

Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long