BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there.

Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while.

Cuchulain stirred, Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard The cars of battle and his own name cried; And fought with the invulnerable tide.

In life courtesy and self-possession, and in the arts style, are the sensible impressions of the free mind, for both arise out of a deliberate shaping of all things and from never being swept away, whatever the emotion into confusion or dullness.

For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose.

The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.

I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.