Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

You may tell me that my hand and foot are only imaginary symbols of my existence. I could believe you, but you never, never can convince me that the I is not an eternal reality, and that the spiritual is not the true and real part of me.

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.

And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.

For this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.

Love will conquer at the last.

There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.