Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.

The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.

The night can sweat with terror as before We pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under a rule, Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.

The living can assist the imagination of the dead.

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

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

I agree about Shaw - he is haunted by the mystery he flouts. He is an atheist who trembles in the haunted corridor.