Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.

What were all the world's alarms To mighty Paris when he found Sleep upon a golden bed That first dawn in Helen's arms?

Time can but make it easier to be wise / Though now it seems impossible, and so / All that you need is patience.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

What can I but enumerate old themes?

I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams.

Hearts with one purpose alone/Through summer and winter seem/Enchanted to a stone/To trouble the living stream.