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

To be born woman is to know - although they do not speak of it at school - women must labor to be beautiful.

The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary, Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeler.

I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.

An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick

That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees - Those dying generations-at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect.

Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.