Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.

The Land of Faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.

The visible world is no longer a reality and the unseen world no longer a dream.

But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?

I call on those that call me son, Grandson, or great-grandson, On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, To judge what I have done. Have I, that put it into words, Spoilt what old loins have sent?

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping...I hear it in the deep heart's core.

The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed.