There is no deformity But saves us from a dream.

Oh, Love is the crooked thing, there is nobody wise enough to find out all that is in it, for he will be thinking about love til the stars run away and the shadows eaten the moon.

Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age brings the red flare again.

True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.

Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.

What made us dream that he could comb gray hair?

O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.