There Is A Budding Tomorrow In Midnight.

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?

O Latest Born And Loveliest Vision Far Of All Olympus' Faded Hierarchy.

Philosophy Will Clip An Angel's Wings, Conquer All Mysteries By Rule And Line, Empty The Haunted Air, And Gnomed Mine - Unweave A Rainbow.

Thou Foster-child Of Silence And Slow Time.

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.