O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

But is there any comfort to be found? Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?

Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the levelling wind.

The night can sweat with terror as before We pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under a rule, Who are but weasels fighting in …

When they come downstairs from their Ivory Towers, Idealists are very apt to walk straight into the gutter.

You see things as they are and ask, 'Why?' I dream things as they never were and ask, 'Why not?'

For tho' I know he loves me, To-night my heart is sad; His kiss was not so wonderful As all the dreams I had.