“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 lovers sighs.I would I were an armed knight,Far-famed for well-won enterprise,And wearing on my swarthy browsThe garland of new-wreathed empriseFor in a moment I would pierceThe blackest files of clanging fight,And strongly strike to left and right,In dreaming of my lady's eyes.O, Kate loves well the bold and fierce;But none are bold enough for Kate,She cannot find a fitting mate.”

“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.”

“There has fallen a splendid tearFrom the passion-flower at the gate.She is coming, my dove, my dear;She is coming, my life, my fate.The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"And the lily whispers, "I wait." She is coming, my own, my sweet;Were it ever so airy a tread,My heart would hear her and beat,Were it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead,Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red.”

“No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word She shook the world.”

“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.”

“You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.”

“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.”