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.

If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.

Time drops in decay Like a candle burnt out. And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day; But, kindly old rout Of the fire-born moods, You pass not away.

The pain others give passes away in their later kindness, but that of our own blunders, especially when they hurt our vanity, never passes away

I pray-for fashion's word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.

In dreams begin responsibilitiy.

Education is not about filling a pail, it's about lighting a fire.