This Is The Hour Of Lead- Remembered,

I Measure Every Grief I Meet With Narrow, Probing Eyes - I Wonder If It Weighs Like Mine - Or Has An Easier Size.

To See The Summer Sky Is Poetry, Though Never In A Book It Lie— True Poems Flee—

How Softly Summer Shuts, Without The Creaking Of A Door.

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense -- To A Discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- The Starkest Madness -- 'tis The Majority In This, As All, Prevail -- Assent -- And You Are Sane -- Demur -- You're Straightway Dangerous -- And Handled With A Chain --

Life Is The Finest Secret. So Long As That Remains, We Must All Whisper.