Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. - Alfred Tennyson

"If I come dressed like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are: I am a beggar born," she said, "And not the Lady Clare".

But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

"Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his moods
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the Hall.
And toward him from the Hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, "Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?