Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth; Forgive them where they fall in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. - Alfred Tennyson

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?

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath Preluded those melodious bursts that fill The spacious times of great Elizabeth With sounds that echo still.

Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.