And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.
Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.
Attain the unattainable.
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!
In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.
Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.