I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.

Come away, O human child: To the waters and the wild with a fairy, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

In dreams begin responsibilitiy.

Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun.

The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.

I am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch.

Not a man alive has so much luck that he can play with it.