Willows whiten, aspens quiver, little breezes dusk and shiver, thro' the wave that runs forever by the island in the river, flowing down to Camelot. … - Alfred Tennyson

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot.

Come, my friends.
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
For my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset.
And though we are not now that strength which in old days moved Earth and Heaven.
That which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts
made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
to strive, to seek, to find,
and not to yield.

When will the stream be aweary of flowing Under my eye? When will the wind be aweary of blowing Over the sky? When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting? When will the heart be aweary of beating? And nature die? Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.

You sought to prove how I could love, And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I.