How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.

The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed Gray Truth is now her painted toy.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.

While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.