I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.

For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose.

Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.

I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.

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

I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.

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.