And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.

O son, thou hast not true humility, The highest virtue, mother of them all; But her thou hast not know; for what is this? Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.

The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss had brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more.

Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.

The greater person is one of courtesy.