Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age brings the red flare again.

Locke sank into a swoon; The Garden died; God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.

Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.

Be secret and exult, Because of all things known That is most difficult.

Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.

Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.

I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.