The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.

A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him up for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.

The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.

Speech after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead . . . That we descant and yet again descant Upon the supreme theme of Art and Song: Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young We loved each other and were ignorant.

And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.

In dreams begins responsibility.

Bid imagination run / Much on the Great Questioner; / What He can question, what if questioned I / Can with a fitting confidence reply.