"And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour—well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell."

"I sent my soul through the invisible, some letter of that after-life to spell."

"And this I know: whether the one True Light Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite, One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies."

"Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness—And Wilderness is Paradise enow."

"For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day, I watched the Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all obliterated Tongue It murmur'd—'Gently, Brother, gently, pray!'"