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1 " His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;From underneath his helmet flow'dHis coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot.From the bank and from the riverHe flash'd into the crystal mirror,'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot. "
― Alfred Tennyson ,