Sweet Are The Pleasures That To Verse

But Were There Ever Any Writhed Not At Passed Joy?

Now A Soft Kiss - Aye, By That Kiss, I Vow An Endless Bliss.

The Poetry Of Earth Is Never Dead When All The Birds Are Faint With The Hot Sun, And Hide I Cooling Trees, A Voice Will Run From Hedge To Hedge About The New-mown Mead.

Should Disappointment, Parent Of Despair, Strive For Her Son To Seize My Careless Heart; When, Like A Cloud, He Sits Upon The Air, Preparing On His Spell-bound Prey To Dart: Chase Him Away, Sweet Hope, With Visage Bright, And Fright Him As The Morning Frightens Night!

Fade Far Away, Dissolve, And Quite Forget.