Enough of ease, O Love, enough of light, Enough of rest before the shadow of night. Strong Love, whom death finds feebler; kingly Love, Whom time discrowns in season, seeing thy dove...
But all that year in Brittany forlorn, More sick at heart with wrath than fear of scorn And less in love with love than grief, and less With grief than pride of spirit and bitterness,...
A little time, O Love, a little light, A little hour for ease before the night. Sweet Love, that art so bitter; foolish Love, Whom wise men know for wiser, and thy dove...
But that same night in Cornwall oversea Couched at Queen Iseult's hand, against her knee, With keen kind eyes that read her whole heart's pain Fast at wide watch lay Tristram's hound Hodain,...
'As a matter of fact, no man living, or who ever lived, not C'sar or Pericles, not Shakespeare or Michael Angelo, could confer honour more than he took on entering the House of Lords.' - Saturday Review, December 15, 1883....