Then nowise worship dusty deeds,Nor seek, for this is also sooth,To hunger fiercely after truth,Lest all thy toiling only breedsNew dreams, new dreams; there is no truthSaving in thine own heart. Seek, then,No learning from the starry men,Who follow with the optic glassThe whirling ways of stars that pass--Seek, then, for this is also sooth,No word of theirs--the cold star-baneHas cloven and rent their hearts in twain,And dead is all their human truth.Go gather by the humming seaSome twisted, echo-harbouring shell,And to its lips thy story tell,And they thy comforters will be.
W.B Yeats, The Song of the Happy Shepherd
