Is There Another Life? Shall I Awake

A Little Noiseless Noise Among The Leaves, Born Of The Very Sigh That Silence Heaves.

Dancing Music, Music Sad, Both Together, Sane And Mad.

I Think I Shall Be Among The English Poets After My Death.

The Creature Has A Purpose, And His Eyes Are Bright With It.

I Almost Wish We Were Butterflies And Liv'd But Three Summer Days - Three Such Days With You I Could Fill With More Delight Than Fifty Common Years Could Ever Contain.