She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,- Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.

I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)- To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.

I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.

For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.

Either sex alone is half itself.