If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.

Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.

Fair and foul are near of kin And fair needs foul," I cried. "My friends are gone, but that's a truth Nor grave nor bed denied."

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

We are fastened to a dying animal.

I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.

All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the plowman, splashing the wintry mold, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.