But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

All hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will

I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.

The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong.

Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.

Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.