I Have Good Reason To Be Content,

Bards Of Passion And Of Mirth, Ye Have Left Your Souls On Earth! Have Ye Souls In Heaven Too, Double-lived In Regions New?

Let Us Open Our Leaves Like A Flower, And Be Passive And Receptive.

In A Drear-nighted December, Too Happy, Happy Brook, Thy Bubblings Ne'er Remember Apollo's Summer Look; But With A Sweet Forgetting, They Stay Their Crystal Fretting, Never, Never Petting About The Frozen Time.

Asleep In Lap Of Legends Old.

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