The woman is so hard Upon the woman.

Attain the unattainable.

And what delights can equal those That stir the spirit's inner deeps, When one that loves but knows not, reaps A truth from one that loves and knows?

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.

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

Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.