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.

That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.

All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.

Sweet is true love, though given in vain.

What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.

Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.