Frown not, old ghosts, if I be one of those Who make you utter things you did not say, And mould you all awry and mar your work; For whatsoever knows… - Alfred Tennyson

...none can truly write his single day, And none can write it for him upon earth.

Whither in after life retired From brawling storms, From weary wind, With youthful fancy reinspired, We may hold converse with all forms Of the many-sided mind, And those whom passion hath not blinded, Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; Tomorrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year; Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

They served their use, their time; for every knight
Believed himself a greater than himself,
And every follower eyed him as a God;
Till he, being lifted up beyond himself,
Did mightier deeds than elsewise he had done,
And so the realm was made; but then their vows — First mainly through that sullying of our Queen — Began to gall the knighthood, asking whence
Had Arthur right to bind them to himself?