How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made

Asleep In Lap Of Legends Old.

Now A Soft Kiss - Aye, By That Kiss, I Vow An Endless Bliss.

Poetry Should Surprise By A Fine Excess And Not By Singularity, It Should Strike The Reader As A Wording Of His Own Highest Thoughts, And Appear Almost A Remembrance.

Through The Dancing Poppies Stole A Breeze, Most Softly Lulling To My Soul.

Though A Quarrel In The Streets Is A Thing To Be Hated, The Energies Displayed In It Are Fine; The Commonest Man Shows A Grace In His Quarrel.