What am I, after all, but a child, pleas'd with the sound of my own
name? repeating it over and over;
I stand apart to hear -- it never tires me.
To you, your name also;
Did you think there was nothing but two or three pronunciations in
the sound of your name?
~ Walt Whitman ~
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Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
~ William Butler Yeats ~