I went out to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head.

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I have read somewhere that in the Emperor's palace at Byzantium was a tree made of gold and silver, and artificial birds that sang.

It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much laboring.

The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of leaves Had blotted out man's image and his cry.