Idylls of the King
As when in a dream you go down the dark way, There go the winds as they run, the rivers flow, Where the waters still, and the dawn comes softly play, There all is bright as gold, where the wildflowers grow.
As long as sky and land can, as long as man may live, We shall sing of our love and the light of the day, Old moon by the fires, and the stars where we give For ever to the perfect path we quietly tread.
- Alfred Lord Tennyson