It takes more courage to dig deep in the dark corners of your own soul and the back alleys of your society than it does for a soldier to fight on the battlefield.

O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.

I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams.

What can I but enumerate old themes?

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.

The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary, Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeler.

Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.