At Last Awake From Life, That Insane

Mothers, Wives And Maids, These Be The Tools With Which Priests Manage Men.

The Rain Set Early In Tonight, The Sullen Wind Was Soon Awake, It Tore The Elm-tops Down For Spite, And Did Its Best To Vex The Lake: I Listened With Heart Fit To Break. When Glided In Porphyria; Straight She Shut The Cold Out And The Storm, And Kneeled And Made The Cheerless Grate Blaze Up And All The Cottage Warm.

Oh, To Be In England Now That April's There, And Whoever Wakes In England Sees, Some Morning, Unaware.

Mid The Sharp, Short Emerald Wheat, Scarce Risen Three Fingers Well, The Wild Tulip At The End Of Its Tube, Blows Out Its Great Red Bell, Like A Thin Clear Bubble Of Blood, For The Children To Pick And Sell.

God's Justice, Tardy Though It Prove Perchance, Rests Never On The Track Until It Reach Delinquency.