And so the Word had breath, and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds, More strong than all poetic thoughts; Which he may read that binds the sheaf, Or builds the house, or digs the grave, And those wild eyes that watch the waves In roarings round the coral reef.

O Love! they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! And answer, echoes, answer! dying, dying, dying.

All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.

Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.

Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.

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