Many ingenious lovely things are gone / That seemed sheer miracle to the multitude.

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

And the merry love the fiddle, and the merry love to dance.

The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed Gray Truth is now her painted toy.

Education is not filling

Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world, and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary. You may argue against it but you should no more treat it with disrespect than a perfectly cultivated writer would treat (say) the Catholic Church or the Church of Luther no matter how much he disliked them.

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.