As well a well-wrought urn becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs, And by these hymns, all shall approve Us canonized for Love.

We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; And if no piece of chronicle we prove, We’ll build in sonnets pretty rooms;

Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still Litigious men, which quarrels move,

Then be not coy, but use your time,

“Myth is dead!” “Long live myth!”

Picks up her glass. She has a glass, with coffee,   ice and milk in it.

Suddenly everyone, ceasing their talk, sat in a row around him, watched they did not so much hear, or pay attention, they wondered, looked at each other, smirked, but listened, he repeated and repeated, could not go beyond his thought “The pool    the kingfishers’ feathers were wealth    why did the export stop?”

There were very many who were wanting to be ones doing what he was doing that is to be ones clearly expressing something and then very many of them were not wanting to be being ones doing that thing, that is clearly expressing something, they wanted to be ones expressing something being struggling, something being going to be some other thing, something being going to be something some one sometime would be clearly expressing and that would be something that would be a thing then that would then be greatly expressing some other thing than that thing, certainly very many were then not wanting to be doing what this one was doing clearly expressing something and some of them had been ones wanting to be doing that thing wanting to be ones clearly expressing something.

Some said he was not clearly expressing what he was expressing and some of such of them said that the greatness of struggling which was not clear expression made of him one being a completely great one.

Nearer in fairy sea, nearer and farther, show white has lime in sight, show a stitch of ten. Count, count more so that thicker and thicker is leaning.

mule-dung, flies—

HERACLITUS: "The waking have one common world But the sleeping turn aside Each into a world of his own." I keep telling myself what I really like Are music, books, certain land and sea-scapes The way light falls across them, diffusion of Light through agate, light itself . . . I suppose I'm still afraid of the dark

There were very many who were wanting to be ones doing what he was doing that is to be ones clearly expressing something and then very many of them were not wanting to be being ones doing that thing, that is clearly expressing something, they wanted to be ones expressing something being struggling, something being going to be some other thing, something being going to be something some one sometime would be clearly expressing and that would be something that would be a thing then that would then be greatly expressing some other thing than that thing, certainly very many were then not wanting to be doing what this one was doing clearly expressing something and some of them had been ones wanting to be doing that thing wanting to be ones clearly expressing something.

Some said he was not clearly expressing what he was expressing and some of such of them said that the greatness of struggling which was not clear expression made of him one being a completely great one.

Nearer in fairy sea, nearer and farther, show white has lime in sight, show a stitch of ten. Count, count more so that thicker and thicker is leaning.

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

The Child is father of the Man;

This was my sole resource, my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.

New-moon winter-bright! And overspread with phantom light,

And think that thou shalt learn far other lore And in far other scenes!

motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form,

the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.

This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams!

Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness.

save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.

The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings:

The frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind

Alas, alas, who’s injured by my love? What merchant’s ships have my sighs drowned? Who says my tears have overflowed his ground?

Take you a course, get you a place, Observe his honor, or his grace, Or the king’s real, or his stampèd face Contemplate; what you will, approve, So you will let me love.

For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love,

For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love, Or chide my palsy, or my gout, My five gray hairs, or ruined fortune flout, With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve,

We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty. Our life is short; and our dayes run As fast away as do’s the Sunne:

Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!

Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!

Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes.

Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes.

Into a fine distraction;

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown

And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.

But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.

That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer;

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he’s a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he’s to setting.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying.

Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.

A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility:

An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribands to flow confusedly;

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction;