A king of infinite space
Men from children nothing differ.
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit: and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry! England and Saint George!
I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.