Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.
A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams.
What were all the world's alarms To mighty Paris when he found Sleep upon a golden bed That first dawn in Helen's arms?