Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
Alfred Lord TennysonWho is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord TennysonTheirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
Alfred Lord Tennyson