Asleep In Lap Of Legends Old.

To Sorrow I Bade Good-morrow, And Thought To Leave Her Far Away Behind; But Cheerly, Cheerly, She Loves Me Dearly: She Is So Constant To Me, And So Kind.

Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever Of Thyself.

That Queen Of Secrecy, The Violet.

The Redbreast Whistles From A Garden-croft; And Gathering Swallows Twitter In The Skies.

Knowledge Enormous Makes A God Of Me.