There is no deformity But saves us from a dream.
The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.
The Land of Faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.
The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
By logic and reason we die hourly; by imagination we live.
God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.