Parting They Seemed To Tread Upon The

What Is More Gentle Than A Wind Is Summer?

Season Of Mists And Mellow Fruitfulness, Close Bosom-friend Of The Maturing Sun; Conspiring With Him How To Load And Bless With Fruit The Vines That Round The Thatch-eves Run; To Bend With Apples The Moss’d Cottage-trees, And Fill All Fruit With Ripeness To The Core; To Swell The Gourd, And Plump The Hazel Shells With A Sweet Kernel; To Set Budding More, And Still More, Later Flowers For The Bees, Until They Think Warm Days Will Never Cease, For Summer Has O’er-brimm’d Their Clammy Cells.

Much Have I Traveled In The Realms Of Gold, And Many Goodly States And Kingdoms Seen.

What Is There In Thee, Moon! That Thou Should'st Move My Heart So Potently?

Blessed Is The Healthy Nature; It Is The Coherent, Sweetly Co-operative, Not Incoherent, Self-distracting, Self-destructive One!