Alas! When Passion Is Both Meek And

... The Open Sky Sits Upon Our Senses Like A Sapphire Crown - The Air Is Our Robe Of State - The Earth Is Our Throne, And The Sea A Mighty Minstrel Playing Before It.

And Shade The Violets, That They May Bind The Moss In Leafy Nets.

The Poetry Of Earth Is Never Dead When All The Birds Are Faint With The Hot Sun, And Hide I Cooling Trees, A Voice Will Run From Hedge To Hedge About The New-mown Mead.

She Press'd His Hand In Slumber; So Once More He Could Not Help But Kiss Her And Adore.

He Ne'er Is Crowned With Immortality Who Fears To Follow Where Airy Voices Lead.