One should not lose one's temper unless one is certain of getting more and more angry to the end.

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?

Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.

Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.

Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they bear. The changing colours of its fruit Have dowered the stars with metry light; The surety of its hidden root Has planted quiet in the night; The shaking of its leafy head Has given the waves their melody, And made my lips and music wed, Murmuring a wizard song for thee.

I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.