Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.

We poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk about women with. Letter to Olivia Shakespeare, 1936

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.

Nothing that we love overmuch Is ponderable to our touch.

I have no question: It is enough, I know what fixed the station Of star and cloud. And knowing all, I cry. . . .

Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.

Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.