My temptation is quiet. Here at life's end Neither loose imagination Nor the mill of the mind Consuming its rag and bone, Can make the truth known.
William Butler YeatsEverything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day. Love's pleasure drives his love away, The painter's brush consumes his dreams.
William Butler YeatsThough leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.
William Butler Yeats