I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young / And weep because I know all things now.

Hammer your thoughts into unity.

We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.

Is it not certain that the Creator yawns in earthquake and thunder and other popular displays, but toils in rounding the delicate spiral of a shell? -Yeats, The Trembling of the Veil

But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?

Even when the poet seems most himself . . . he is never the bundle of accident and incoherence that sits down to breakfast; he has been reborn as an idea, something intended, complete.

Before me floats an image, man or shade, / Shade more than man, more image than a shade.