The Poppies Hung Dew-dabbled On Their Stalks.

Music's Golden Tongue Flatter'd To Tears This Aged Man And Poor.

The Public - A Thing I Cannot Help Looking Upon As An Enemy, And Which I Cannot Address Without Feelings Of Hostility.

I Will Clamber Through The Clouds And Exist.

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

Was It A Vision Or A Waking Dream? Fled Is That Music--do I Wake Or Sleep?