I Know, But I Do Not Approve.

She Learned Her Hands In A Fairy-tale, And Her Mouth On A Valentine.

Longing Alone Is Singer To The Lute.

I Would I Were Alive Again To Kiss The Fingers Of The Rain, To Drink Into My Eyes The Shine Of Every Slanting Silver Line, To Catch The Freshened, Fragrant Breeze From Drenched And Dripping Apple-trees. For Soon The Shower Will Be Done, And Then The Broad Face Of The Sun Will Laugh Above The Rain-soaked Earth Until The World With Answering Mirth Shakes Joyously, And Each Round Drop Rolls Twinkling, From Its Grass-blade Top.

And All The Loveliest Things There Be Come Simply, So It Seems To Me.

Evil Alone Has Oil For Every Wheel.