The Silver, Snarling Trumpets 'gan To Chide.

There Is A Budding Morrow In Midnight.

O Magic Sleep! O Comfortable Bird, That Broodest O'er The Troubled Sea Of The Mind Till It Is Hush'd And Smooth!

You Are Always New, The Last Of Your Kisses Was Ever The Sweetest.

I Never Can Feel Certain Of Any Truth, But From A Clear Perception Of Its Beauty.

But Let Me See Thee Stoop From Heaven On Wings That Fill The Sky With Silver Glitterings!