Sweet is true love, though given in vain.

O hark,O hear! how thin and clear And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.

That which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.

There twice a day the Severn fills; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.

Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.