Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled

You Might Curb Your Magnanimity, And Be More Of An Artist, And Load Every Rift Of Your Subject With Ore.

In A Drear-nighted December, Too Happy, Happy Tree, Thy Branches Ne'er Remember Their Green Felicity.

Open Afresh Your Rounds Of Starry Folds, Ye Ardent Marigolds.

On A Lone Winter Evening, When The Frost Has Wrought A Silence.

Sudden A Thought Came Like A Full-blown Rose, Flushing His Brow.