As We To The Brutes, Poets Are

Sunrays, Leaning On Our Southern Hills And Lighting Wild Cloud-mountains That Drag The Hills Along, Oft Ends The Day Of Your Shifting Brilliant Laughter Chill As A Dull Face Frowning On A Song. Ay, But Shows The South-west A Ripple-feathered Bosom Blown To Silver While The Clouds Are Shaken And Ascend Scaling The Mid-heavens As They Stream, There Comes A Sunset Rich, Deep Like Love In Beauty Without End.

Ah, What A Dusty Answer Gets The Soul When Hot For Certainties In This Our Life! - In Tragic Hints Here See What Evermore Moves Dark As Yonder Midnight Ocean's Force, Thundering Like Ramping Hosts Of Warrior Horse, To Throw That Faint Thin Fine Upon The Shore!

Among The Diaries Beginning With The Second Quarter Of Our Century, There Is Frequent Mention Of A Lady Then Becoming Famous For Her Beauty And Her Wit: "an Unusual Combination," In The Deliberate Syllables Of One Of The Writers, Who Is, However, Not Disposed To Personal Irony When Speaking Of Her.

And If I Drink Oblivion Of A Day, / So Shorten I The Stature Of My Soul.

The Sun Is Coming Down To Earth, And The Fields And The Waters Shout To Him Golden Shouts.