It Is For Him That Is Lonely

A World Made To Be Lost, - A Bitter Life 'twixt Pain And Nothing Tost.

If I Were Asked To Say What Is At Once The Most Important Production Of Art And The Thing Most To Be Longed For, I Should Answer, A Beautiful House.

Love Is Enough: Though The World Be A-waning, And The Woods Have No Voice But The Voice Of Complaining.

Yea, I Have Looked, And Seen November There; The Changeless Seal Of Change It Seemed To Be, Fair Death Of Things That, Living Once, Were Fair; Bright Sign Of Loneliness Too Great For Me, Strange Image Of The Dread Eternity, In Whose Void Patience How Can These Have Part, These Outstretched Feverish Hands, This Restless Heart?

It Is The Childlike Part Of Us That Produces Works Of The Imagination. When We Were Children Time Passed So Slow With Us That We Seemed To Have Time For Everything.