A Pin Has A Head, But Has

It's Surely Summer. For There's A Swallow: Come One Swallow, His Mate Will Follow, The Bird Race Quicken And Wheel And Thicken.

And All Winds Go Sighing For Sweet Things Dying.

We Must Not Look At Goblin Men, We Must Not Buy Their Fruits: Who Knows Upon What Soil They Fed Their Hungry Thirsty Roots?

My Heart Is Like A Singing Bird Whose Nest Is In A Water'd Shoot; My Heart Is Like An Apple-tree Whose Boughs Are Bent With Thick-set Fruit.

Where Are The Songs I Used To Know, Where Are The Notes I Used To Sing? I Have Forgotten Everything I Used To Know So Long Ago. ("the Key-note")