In A Drear-nighted December, Too Happy, Happy

Through The Sad Heart Of Ruth, When Sick For Home She Stood In Tears Amid The Alien Corn; The Same That Ofttimes Hath Charm'd Magic Casements, Opening On The Foam Of Perilous Seas, In Faery Lands Forlorn.

O, Sorrow! Why Dost Borrow Heart's Lightness From The Merriment Of May?

Was It A Vision Or A Waking Dream? Fled Is That Music--do I Wake Or Sleep?

Why Employ Intelligent And Highly Paid Ambassadors And Then Go And Do Their Work For Them? You Don't Buy A Canary And Sing Yourself.

Praise Or Blame Has But A Momentary Effect On The Man Whose Love Of Beauty In The Abstract Makes Him A Severe Critic On His Own Works.