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Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
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My wretched dragon is perplexed.
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Hurrah for revolution and cannon come again! The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on.
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I have no question: It is enough, I know what fixed the station Of star and cloud. And knowing all, I cry. . . .
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Death and life were not Till man made up the whole, Made lock, stock and barrel Out of his bitter soul
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I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs, Those undreamt accidents that have made me Seeing that Fame has perished this long while, Being but a part of ancient ceremony Notorious, till all my priceless things Are but a post the passing dogs defile.
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Tis the eternal law, That first in beauty should be first in might.
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The soul of man is of the imperishable substance of the stars!
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I had a chair at every hearth, When no one turned to see, With 'Look at that old fellow there, 'And who may he be?
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He Who is wrapped in purple robes, With planets in His care, Had pity on the least of things Asleep upon a chair.
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I sat on cushioned otter-skin: My word was law from Ith to Emain, And shook at Invar Amargin The hearts of the world-troubling seamen, And drove tumult and war away.
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When two close kindred meet What better than call a dance?.
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I broke my heart in two So hard I struck. What matter? for I know That out of rock, Out of a desolate source, Love leaps upon its course.
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While Michael Angelo's Sistine roof, His "Morning" and his "Night" disclose How sinew that has been pulled tight, Or it may be loosened in repose, Can rule by supernatural right Yet be but sinew.
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Grant me an old man's frenzy, Myself must I remake Till I am Timon and Lear Or that William Blake Who beat upon the wall Till Truth obeyed his call.
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Englishmen are babes in philosophy and so prefer faction-fighting to the labour of its unfamiliar thought.
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May we two stand, When we are dead, beyond the setting suns, A little from other shades apart, With mingling hair, and play upon one lute.
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To sit beside the board and drink good wine And watch the turf smoke coiling from the fire And feel content and wisdom in your heart, This is the best of life; when we are young We long to tread a way none trod before, But find the excellent old way through love And through the care of children to the hour Forbidding Fate and Time and Change goodbye.
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What can be shown? What true love be? All could be known or shown If Time were but gone.
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Thought is a garment and the soul's a bride That cannot in that trash and tinsel hide: Hatred of God may bring the soul to God.
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Designs in connection with postage stamps and coinage may be described, I think, as the silent ambassadors on national taste.
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Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come, Dancing to a frenzied drum, Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
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But stories that live longest Are sung above the glass, And Parnell loved his country And Parnell loved his lass.
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The friends that have it I do wrong Whenever I remake a song, Should know what issue is at stake: It is myself that I remake.