“But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!”

“O, were I loved as I desire to be!What is there in the great sphere of the earth,Or range of evil between death and birth,That I should fear, - if I were loved by thee!All the inner, all the outer world of pain,Clear love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine;As I have heard that somewhere in the mainFresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.‘I were joy, not fear, clasped hand in hand with thee,To wait for death - mute - careless of all ills,Apart upon a mountain, though the surgeOf some new deluge from a thousand hillsFlung leagues of roaring foam into the gorgeBelow us, as far on as eye could see.”

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

“But such a tide as moving seems asleep,too full for sound or foam,when that which drew from outthe boundless deepturns again home.”

“Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayerThan this world dreams of: Wherefore, let thy voice,Rise like a fountain for me night and day.”

“Who 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.”

“Half the night I waste in sighs,Half in dreams I sorrow afterThe delight of early skies;In a wakeful dose I sorrowFor the hand, the lips, the eyes,For the meeting of the morrow,The delight of happy laughter,The delight of low replies.”