Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams

No art can conquer the people alone-the people are conquered by an ideal of life upheld by authority.

Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal; a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.

A man in his own secret meditation / Is lost amid the labyrinth that he has made / In art or politics.

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of leaves Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

An intellectual hatred is the worst.