The thrall in person may be free in soul

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

if you don't concentrate on what you are doing then the thing that you are doing is not what you are thinking.

For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.

Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.

Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.