Better not to be at all Than not to be noble.
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.
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.
The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink Together.
What are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend?