Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control; these three alone lead one to sovereign power.

Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.

Nature is one with rapine, a harm no preacher can heal; The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow speared by the shrike, And the whole little wood where I sit is a world of plunder and prey.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.

For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.

Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.