I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.

And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.

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.

The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.

I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.