The last red leaf is whirled away,

’Tis better to have loved and lost

For words, like Nature, half reveal

Let knowledge grow from more to more,

That men may rise on stepping-stones

To the island-valley of Avilion;

More things are wrought by prayer

The old order changeth, yielding place to new,

So all day long the noise of battle rolled

Authority forgets a dying king.