We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?

The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.

Why one day in the country Is worth a month in town; Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion That days drone elsewhere.

And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.

Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago. ("The Key-Note")

Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.

The downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back.