Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.

Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.

Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.

Irish poets, learn your trade, sing whatever is well made, scorn the sort now growing up all out of shape from toe to top.

Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song.

Man can embody truth but he cannot know it.