I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.

Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

Faith is believing what we cannot prove.

Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.