For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.
Bible reading is an education in itself.
That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.
Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.
Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
You, methinks you think you love me well; For me, I love you somewhat; rest: and Love Should have some rest and pleasure in himself, Not ever be too curious for a boon, Too prurient for a proof against the grain Of him ye say ye love: but Fame with men, Being but ampler means to serve mankind, Should have small rest or pleasure in herself, But work as vassal to the larger love, That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.
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.
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.
In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!
That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot.
The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
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.
Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
I stood on a tower in the wet, And New Year and Old Year met, And winds were roaring and blowing: And I said, "O years, that meet in tears, Have ye aught that is worth the knowing? Science enough and exploring, Wanderers coming and going, Matter enough for deploring, But aught that is worth the knowing?
I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
Sweet is true love, though given in vain.
For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.
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