Hail To Thee, Blithe Spirit!

He Wanders, Like A Day-appearing Dream, Through The Dim Wildernesses Of The Mind; Through Desert Woods And Tracts, Which Seem Like Ocean, Homeless, Boundless, Unconfined.

The Intense Atom Glows A Moment, Then Is Quenched In A Most Cold Repose.

A Poet Is A Nightingale, Who Sits In Darkness And Sings To Cheer Its Own Solitude With Sweet Sounds.

A Dream Has Power To Poison Sleep.

What! Alive, And So Bold, O Earth?