Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.

Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.

A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.

His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.