As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.

I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.

We are all a part of every person we have ever met.

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, little breezes dusk and shiver, thro' the wave that runs forever by the island in the river, flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls and four gray towers, overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle imbowers, the Lady of Shalott.