Man,--the Aristocrat Amongst The Animals.

Out Of My Own Great Woe I Make My Little Songs.

Tell Me Who First Did Kisses Suggest? It Was A Mouth All Glowing And Blest; It Kissed And It Thought Of Nothing Beside. The Fair Month Of May Was Then In Its Pride, The Flowers Were All From The Earth Fast Springing, The Sun Was Laughing, The Birds Were Singing.

Perhaps Already I Am Dead, And These Perhaps Are Phantoms Vain; - These Motley Phantasies That Pass At Night Through My Disordered Brain. Perhaps With Ancient Heathen Shapes, Old Faded Gods, This Brain Is Full; Who, For Their Most Unholy Rites, Have Chosen A Dead Poet's Skull.

A Lonely Fir-tree Is Standing On A Northern Barren Height; It Sleeps, And The Ice And Snow-drift Cast Round It A Garment Of White.

Where Books Are Burnt, Men Finish Up Being Burnt Too.