Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.
The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.
She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.