Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams

I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.

Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.

Out of Ireland have we come, great hatred, little room, maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic heart.

I sat, a solitary man, In a crowded London shop, An open book and empty cup On the marble table-top. While on the shop and street I gazed My body of a sudden blazed; And twenty minutes more or less It seemed, so great my happiness, That I was blessed and could bless.

The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.