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

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

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

Time's bitter flood will rise,Your beauty perish and be lostFor all eyes but these eyes.

Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary. You may argue against it but you should no more treat it with disrespect than a perfectly cultivated writ

Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.