Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go.

For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life.

The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.

Wisdom is sold in a desolate marketplace where none can come to buy.

Poetry fettered fetters the human race.

The world of imagination is the world of eternity.

The Fool shall not enter into Heaven let him be ever so Holy.