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answer'd arms Arthur beanty Beeause blood breath Caerleon Camelot child cried Dagonet dark dead dear death dream eall eall'd eame eannot eare earth eastle eaught Edith elear eliff elond elose England Enid ev'n eyes face fair faney father fear flower Gareth Gawain golden GorloYs grace Guinevere hall hand Harold hast hath havo hear heard heart heaven heresy holy King King Arthur kiss knew Lady Lancelot land langh Lavaine light live look look'd Lord lovo maiden Mary merey Merlin morn mother never night noble o'er once Philip Prince Queen rose round searce seem'd shadow Sir Lancelot Sir Pelleas sleep smile sndden song soul Spain spake speak star Stigand stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thro Tostig turn'd vext voice wero wild wind
Page 61 - Myself not least, but honor'd of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move.
Page 64 - For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be ; Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales ; Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'da ghastly dew From the nations...
Page 152 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Page 117 - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off — at last, to all. And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream : but what am I ? An infant crying in the night : An infant crying for the light : And with no language but a cry.
Page 356 - More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
Page 107 - Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die, Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Page 108 - We have but faith: we cannot know; For knowledge is of things we see; And yet we trust it comes from thee, A beam in darkness : let it grow. Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell ; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.
Page 356 - But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou see'st — if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) — To the island-valley of Avilion ; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
Page 129 - Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more : Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind.