Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
Alfred Lord TennysonHer court was pure, her life serene; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed.
Alfred Lord TennysonOnly reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.
Alfred Lord Tennyson