Stranger, Pause And Look; From The Dust

If I Love You Wednesday, What Is That To You? I Do Not Love You Thursday - So Much Is True.

Not Poppy, Nor Mandrake, Nor All The Drowsy Syrups Of The World, Shall Ever Medicine Thee To That Sweet Sleep, Which Thou Owest Yesterday.

If I Could Have Two Things In One: The Peace Of The Grave, And The Light Of The Sun.

Dust In An Urn Long Since, Dispersed And Dead Is Great Apollo; And The Happier He

When We Are Old And These Rejoicing Veins Are Frosty Channels To A Muted Stream, And Out Of All Our Burning There Remains No Feeblest Spark To Fire Us, Even In Dream, This Be Our Solace: That It Was Not Said When We Were Young And Warm And In Our Prime, Upon Our Couch We Lay As Lie The Dead, Sleeping Away The Unreturning Time.