For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.

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

That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.

We needs must love the highest when we see it.

Come, my friends Tis not too late to seek a newer world Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die