Though logic-choppers rule the town, And every man and maid and boy Has marked a distant object down, An aimless joy is a pure joy...
Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun...
As man, as beast, as an ephemeral fly begets, Godhead begets Godhead, For things below are copies, the Great Smaragdine Tablet said. Yet all must copy copies, all increase their kind...
The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day; For half his flock were in their beds, Or under green sods lay.
Because the priest must have like every dog his day Or keep us all awake with baying at the moon, We and our dolls being but the world were best away.
What if the Church and the State Are the mob that howls at the door! Wine shall run thick to the end, Bread taste sour.
Great Powers of falling wave and wind and windy fire, With your harmonious choir Encircle her I love and sing her into peace, That my old care may cease...
Eyes spiritualised by death can judge, I cannot, but I am not content.
Between extremities Man runs his course; A brand, or flaming breath, Comes to destroy All those antinomies Of day and night...
I, too, await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. When shall the stars be blown about the sky, Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
Education is not filling.
People are responsible for their opinions, but Providence is responsible for their morals.
The world being illusive, one must be deluded in some way if one is to triumph in it.
For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose.
The only enemy of innocence and beauty is time.
We are fastened to a dying animal.
The visible world is no longer a reality and the unseen world no longer a dream.
What the world’s million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.
Test every work of intellect or faith and everything that your own hands have wrought.
What man does not understand, he fears; and what he fears, he tends to destroy.