Too Much Beauty, I Reckon, Is Nothing

Eyes Of Gentianellas Azure, Staring, Winking At The Skies.

And That Dismal Cry Rose Slowly And Sank Slowly Through The Air, Full Of Spirit's Melancholy And Eternity's Despair; And They Heard The Words It Said,- "pan Is Dead! Great Pan Is Dead! Pan, Pan Is Dead!"

I Love Thee To The Depth And Breadth And Height My Soul Can Reach.

O Death, O Beyond, Thou Art Sweet, Thou Art Strange!

The Large White Owl That With Eye Is Blind, That Hath Sate For Years In The Old Tree Hollow, Is Carried Away In A Gust Of Wind.