A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him up for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.

You think it horrible that lust and rage Should dance attention upon my old age; They were not such a plague when I was young; What else have I to spur me into song?

... Let the cage bird and the cage bird mate and the wild bird mate in the wild.

Test every work of intellect or faith and everything that your own hands have wrought.

Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.

The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed Gray Truth is now her painted toy.

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.