Either sex alone is half itself.

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.

As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.

As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

The mighty hopes that make us men.