Vcome let us mock at the great that had such burdens on the mind and toiled so hard and late to leave some monument behind, nor thought of the levelling wind.
come let us mock at the wise; with all those calendars whereon they fixed old aching eyes, they never saw how seasons run, and now but gape at the sun
come let us mock at the good that fancied goodness might be gay, and sick of solitude. might proclaim a holiday: wind shrieked - and where are they?
mock mockers after that that would not lift a hand maybe to help good, wise or great to bar that foul storm, for we traffic in mockery.
w.b. yeats [from 'the tower' | nineteen hundred and nineteen]
thought about love 'and when he jumped down from his ivory tower, losing his velvet wisdomcloak and losing his mind, some say they heard him cry 'i do think i love you'. she heard the echoes...the crash. collected his bones in the blue velvet cloak and watched over them under the apple tree.'