For lust of knowing what should not be known,
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand."

The poet's business is not to save the soul of man but to make it worth saving.

"We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage
And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die,
We poets of the proud old lineage
Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, -
What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales
Of ships and stars . . ."

"What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned."

"Half to forget the wandering and pain,
Half to remember days that have gone by,
And dream and dream that I am home again!"