The white flower of a blameless life.

Nature, red in tooth and claw.

I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.

Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

The mirror crack'd from side to side "The curse has come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott

I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul

There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.