Give me the heart whose rapture fine flames from a draught of its own wine, and take the heart that, self-effaced, by alien fancy is embraced.

Give me the heart, give me the heart that of the world will have no part; I yield the heart right gladly o’er that is a slave to less and more.

O draw me forth, Thou huntsman bold, out of fate’s quiver Thou dost hold; except the shaft be put to bow, how shall it lay the quarry low?

This life is ne’er a weary thing while there be worlds for conquering: behold, one world lies bound and tied – into another world I ride.