I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.

Speech after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead . . . That we descant and yet again descant Upon the supreme theme of Art and Song: Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young We loved each other and were ignorant.

The falcon cannot hear the falconer

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.

There is only one romance the Soul's.

I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember

Hearts with one purpose alone/Through summer and winter seem/Enchanted to a stone/To trouble the living stream.