Heaven blazing into the head: Tragedy wrought to its uttermost. Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages And all the drop-scenes drop at once Upon a hundred thousand stages It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.

Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.

Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun.

Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by

Why should we honour those that die upon the field of battle? A man may show as reckless a courage in entering into the abyss of himself.

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.

When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.