The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Lord TennysonIt may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles whom we knew.
Alfred Lord Tennyson