Though leaves are many, the root is one; / Through all the lying days of my youth / I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun; / Now I may wither into the truth.

One man loved the pilgrim soul in you and loved the sorrows of your changing face.

An old man's eagle mind.

He is a monstrous peacock, and He waveth all the night His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.

I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say: Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay.

O what if gardens where the peacock strays With delicate feet upon old terraces, Or else all Juno from an urn displays Before the indifferent garden deities;

WHAT'S riches to him That has made a great peacock With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey and desolate three rock would nourish his whim.

Half in the unvesselled sea, we climbed the stair / And climbed so long, I thought the last steps were / Hung from the morning star; when these mild words / Fanned the delighted air like wings of birds:

I declare this tower is my symbol; I declare / This winding, gyring, spiring treadmill of a stair is my ancestral stair

So great a sweetness flows into the breast / We must laugh and we must sing, / We are blessed by everything,/ Everything we look upon is blest.