So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not

We needs must love the highest when we see it.

I thought I could not breathe in that fine air That pure severity of perfect light I yearned for warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot.

The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm.

Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.

Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.

We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.