Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.

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.

I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

There is no deformity But saves us from a dream.

A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.

Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.