“Tis a morning pure and sweet,And a dewy splendour fallsOn the little flower that clingsTo the turrets and the walls;'Tis a morning pure and sweet,And the light and shadow fleet;She is walking in the meadow,And the woodland echo rings;In a moment we shall meet;She is singing in the meadow,And the rivulet at her feetRipples on in light and shadowTo the ballad that she sings.”

“I know her by her angry air, Her brightblack eyes, her brightblack hair, Her rapid laughters wild and shrill, As laughter of the woodpecker From the bosom of a hill. 'Tis Kate--she sayeth what she will; For Kate hath an unbridled tongue, Clear as the twanging of a harp. Her heart is like a throbbing star. Kate hath a spirit ever strung Like a new bow, and bright and sharp As edges of the scymetar. Whence shall she take a fitting mate? For Kate no common love will feel; My woman-soldier, gallant Kate, As pure and true as blades of steel. Kate saith "the world is void of might". Kate saith "the men are gilded flies". Kate snaps her fingers at my vows; Kate will not hear of lover's sighs. I would I were an armèd knight, Far famed for wellwon enterprise, And wearing on my swarthy brows The garland of new-wreathed emprise: For in a moment I would pierce The blackest files of clanging fight, And strongly strike to left and right, In dreaming of my lady's eyes. Oh! Kate loves well the bold and fierce; But none are bold enough for Kate, She cannot find a fitting mate.”

“Maud in the light of her youth and her grace,Singing of Death, and of Honor that cannot die,Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean,And myself so languid and base.”

“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.”

“Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.”

“She sleeps: her breathings are not heardIn palace chambers far apart.The fragrant tresses are not stirr'dThat lie upon her charmed heartShe sleeps: on either hand upswellsThe gold-fringed pillow lightly prest:She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwellsA perfect form in perfect rest.”

“She saw the snowy poles of moonless Mars, That marvellous round of milky light Below Orion, and those double stars Whereof the one more brightIs circled by the other”