A lonely impulse of delight

The problem wiv some blokes is that wen they ain't drunk, they're sober.

Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.

You think it horrible that lust and rage Should dance attention upon my old age; They were not such a plague when I was young; What else have I to spur me into song?

A poet is a good citizen turned inside out.

Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come, Dancing to a frenzied drum, Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.

When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.