I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.
Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.
The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.
Things seen are mightier than things heard.
On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.