O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.

Land of Heart's Desire Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song.

And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.

Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'

Time can but make her beauty over again.