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All things fall and are built again, And those that build them again are gay.
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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.
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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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There is only one romance the Soul's.
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What the world's million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.
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The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong.
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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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to be choked with hate May well be of all evil chances chief.
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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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Let the new faces play what tricks they will In the old rooms; night can outbalance day, Our shadows rove the garden gravel still, The living seem more shadowy than they.
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Hammer your thoughts into unity.
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The soul of man is of the imperishable substance of the stars!
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The women that I picked spoke sweet and low And yet gave tongue. "Hound voices" were they all.
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Gaze no more in the bitter glass The demons, with their subtle guile, Lift up before us when they pass, Or only gaze a little while.
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I have nothing more to give you than my heart. Spanish saying Hearts are not to be had as a gift hearts are to be earned.
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People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.
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I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatched The sooner love is gone.
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The chief imagination of Christendom, Dante Alighieri, so utterly found himself That he has made that hollow face of his More plain to the mind's eye than any face But that of Christ.
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Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day.
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rhetoric is will doing the work of imagination.
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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.
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From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged / In rambling talk with an image of air: / Vague memories, nothing but memories.
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Both nuns and mothers worship images, But those the candles light are not as those That animate a mother's reveries, But keep a marble or a bronze repose.
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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.