Finality is death. Perfection is finality. Nothing is perfect. There are lumps in it. - James Stephens

If I asked her master he'd give me a cask a day;
But she, with the beer at hand, not a gill would arrange!
May she marry a ghost and bear him a kitten, and may
The High King of Glory permit her to get the mange.

Because our lives are cowardly and sly,
Because we do not dare to take or give,
Because we scowl and pass each other by,
We do not live; we do not dare to live.

The duty of a lyrical poet is not to express or explain, it is to intensify life.