Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all my ladders start, In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Education is not about filling a pail, it's about lighting a fire.
Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.
Time can but make her beauty over again.
For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these, and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world.