The Mortal Sickness Of A Mind Too

All Knowledge Is Precious Whether Or Not It Serves The Slightest Human Use.

Clay Lies Still, But Blood's A Rover; Breath's Aware That Will Not Keep. Up, Lad: When The Journey's Over Then There'll Be Time Enough To Sleep.

The Fairies Break Their Dances And Leave The Printed Lawn.

Who Made The World I Cannot Tell; 'tis Made, And Here Am I In Hell. My Hand, Though Now My Knuckles Bleed, I Never Soiled With Such A Deed.

When I Was One-and-twenty I Heard A Wise Man Say, `give Crowns And Pounds And Guineas But Not Your Heart Away; Give Pearls Away And Rubies But Keep Your Fancy Free.' But I Was One-and-twenty No Use To Talk To Me. When I Was One-and-twenty I Heard Him Say Again, `the Heart Out Of The Bosom Was Never Given In Vain; 'tis Paid With Sighs A Plenty And Sold For Endless Rue.' And I Am Two-and-twenty And Oh, 'tis True, 'tis True.