Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.

That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away.

There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Nature, red in tooth and claw.