The Poppies Hung Dew-dabbled On Their Stalks.

My Heart Aches, And A Drowsy Numbness Pains/ My Sense, As Though Of Hemlock I Had Drunk.

O For The Gentleness Of Old Romance, The Simple Planning Of A Minstrel's Song!

O For A Life Of Sensations Rather Than Of Thoughts!

You Cannot Conceive How I Ache To Be With You: How I Would Die For One Hour.

I Will Clamber Through The Clouds And Exist.