Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
William Butler YeatsThe 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.
William Butler YeatsAlthough our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of gentleness. When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
William Butler Yeats