There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

Love lieth deep; Love dwells not in lip-depths.

That which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.

That which we are, we are.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.

The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.

The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.