Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.

As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.

I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)- To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.

Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.