And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!

Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.

And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!

And what delights can equal those That stir the spirit's inner deeps, When one that loves but knows not, reaps A truth from one that loves and knows?

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

God made thee good as thou art beautiful.

A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.