Test every work of intellect or faith and everything that your own hands have wrought.

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.

Poet and sculptor, do the work, / Nor let the modish painter shirk

Test every work of intellect or faith and everything that your own hands have wrought.

Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics?

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.