As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen; One praised her ankles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien. So s… - Alfred Tennyson

If all your office had to do
With old results that look like new;
If this were all your mission here,

To draw, to sheathe a useless sword,
To fool the crowd with glorious lies,
To cleave a creed in sects and cries,
To change the bearing of a word,

To shift an arbitrary power,
To cramp the student at his desk,
To make old barreness picturesque
And tuft with grass a feudal tower;

Why then my scorn might well descend
On you and yours.

Verse CXXVII

For now the poet can not die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.

And the parson made it his text that week, and he said likewise, That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies, That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.