I See A Lily On Thy Brow,

I Saw Pale Kings And Princes Too, Pale Warriors, Death-pale Were They All; They Cried- "la Belle Dame Sans Merci Hath Thee In Thrall!

I Always Made An Awkward Bow.

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter; Therefore, Ye Soft Pipes, Play On; Not To The Sensual Ear, But, More Endear'd, Pipe To The Spirit Ditties Of No Tone.

Call The World If You Please "the Vale Of Soul-making." Then You Will Find Out The Use Of The World.

I Don't Need The Stars In The Night I Found My Treasure All I Need Is You By My Side So Shine Forever