The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.

Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.

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

You that would judge me, do not judge alone this book or that, come to this hallowed place where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon; Ireland's history in their lineaments trace; think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was I had such friends.

Labor is blossoming or dancing where The body is not bruised to pleasure soul, Nor beauty born out of its own despair, Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil. O chestnut tree, great-rooted blossomer, Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? O body swayed to music, O brightening glance How can we know the dancer from the dance?

I have nothing more to give you than my heart. Spanish saying Hearts are not to be had as a gift hearts are to be earned.

Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.