I made my song a coat Covered with embroideries Out of old mythologies From heel to throat But the fools caught it, Wore it in the world's eyes As though they'd wrought it. Song, let them take it, For there's more enterprise In walking naked.

Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.

All art is in the last analysis an endeavor to condense as out of the flying vapor of the world an image of human perfection, and for its own and not for the art's sake.

The world being illusive, one must be deluded in some way if one is to triumph in it.

Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.

Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.

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