Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary.

And God, the herdsman, goads them on behind.

I went out to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head.

O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.

But Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement. For nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent.

A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.