Then Felt I Like Some Watcher Of

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?

When I Behold, Upon The Night's Starr'd Face, Huge Cloudy Symbols Of A High Romance, And Think That I May Never Live To Trace Their Shadows, With The Magic Hand Of Chance.

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.

The Creature Has A Purpose, And His Eyes Are Bright With It.

Every Fresh Experience Points Out Some Form Of Error Which We Shall Afterwards Carefully Avoid.