“The woods of Arcady are dead,And over it their antique joy;Of old the world on dreaming fed;Gray Truth is now her painted toy.”

“We know their dream; enoughTo know they dreamed and are dead;And what if excess of loveBewildered them till they died?”

“IIIThose masterful images because completeGrew in pure mind, but out of what began?A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slutWho keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,I must lie down where all the ladders startIn the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.”

“...Those masterful images because completeGrew in pure mind, but out of what began?A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slutWho keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,I must lie down where all the ladders startIn the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.”

“When you are old and grey and full of sleep And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep”

“We have fallen in the dreams the ever-livingBreathe on the tarnished mirror of the world,And then smooth out with ivory hands and sigh.”

“WINE comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and sigh.”