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Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
Let the minor genius go his light way and enjoy his life - the great nature cannot so live, he is never really in holiday mood, even though he often plucks flowers by the wayside and ties them into knots and garlands like little children and lays out on a sunny morning.