"Five hundred lines!" I did my five hundred lines.

They taught me that dreaming was illegal and dangerous, but they neither convinced nor cured me.
I still believe that there are scattered up and down in nature voices that speak, but which few hear; just as there are millions of flowers that bloom unseen by man.

It is sad for those who catch a hint of it.
Perforce they come back and seek the hidden springs.

They waste their youth and vigor upon empty dreams, and in return for the fleeting glimpses they have enjoyed, for the perfect phrase half caught and lost again, will have given up the intercourse of their kind, and even friendship itself.

Yes, it is sad for the schoolboys who open their windows to gaze at the moon, and never drop the habit! They will find themselves, all too soon, solitaries in the midst of life, desolate as I am desolate tonight, beside my dead fire.
No friend will come to knock at my door; not one.