Half the night I waste in sighsHalf in dreams I sorrow afterThe delight of early skiesIn a wakeful dose I sorrowFor the hand the lips the eyesFor the meeting of the morrowThe delight of happy laughterThe delight of low replies.

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

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.

I wither slowly in thine arms here at the quiet limit of the world a white haird shadow roaming like a dream.

On either side the river lieLong fields of barley and of ryeThat clothe the wold and meet the skyAnd through the field the road runs byTo many-towered Camelot.