Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?

The noonday quiet holds the hill.

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.

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

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.

I thought I could not breathe in that fine air That pure severity of perfect light I yearned for warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot.

And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.