Flowers Preach To Us If We Will

Rest, Rest At The Heart's Core . . . Till Joy Shall Overtake.

She Cried, "laura," Up The Garden, "did You Miss Me? Come And Kiss Me. Never Mind My Bruises, Hug Me, Kiss Me, Suck My Juices Squeezed From Goblin Fruits For You, Goblin Pulp And Goblin Dew. Eat Me, Drink Me, Love Me; Laura, Make Much Of Me; For Your Sake I Have Braved The Glen And Had To Do With Goblin Merchant Men.

Gone Were But The Winter, Come Were But The Spring, I Would Go To A Covert Where The Birds Sing; Where In The Whitethorn Singeth A Thrush, And A Robin Sings In The Holly-bush. Full Of Fresh Scents Are The Budding Boughs Arching High Over A Cool Green House: Full Of Sweet Scents, And Whispering Air Which Sayeth Softly: We Spread No Snare; Here Dwell In Safety, Here Dwell Alone, With A Clear Stream And A Mossy Stone. Here The Sun Shineth Most Shadily; Here Is Heard An Echo Of The Far Sea, Though Far Off It Be.

I Lock My Door Upon Myself, And Bar Them Out; But Who Shall Wall Self From Myself, Most Loathed Of All?

I Might Show Facts As Plain As Day: But, Since Your Eyes Are Blind, You'd Say, 'where? What?' And Turn Away.