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

All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.

Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.

A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.

The greater man the greater courtesy.