Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.

What made us dream that he could comb gray hair?

While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.

There is another world, but it is in this one.

All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the plowman, splashing the wintry mold, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.