Write Me As One Who Loves His

I Am Persuaded There Is No Such Thing After All As A Perfect Enjoyment Of Solitude; For The More Delicious The Solitude The More One Wants A Companion.

We Are Slumberous Poppies, Lords Of Lethe Downs, Some Awake And Some Asleep, Sleeping In Our Crowns. What Perchance Our Dreams May Know, Let Our Serious May Know.

The Fish Is Swift, Small-needing, Vague Yet Clear, A Cold, Sweet, Silver Life, Wrapped In Round Waves.

Oh For A Seat In Some Poetic Nook, Just Hid With Trees And Sparkling With A Brook!

The Rapturuous, Wild, And Ineffable Pleasure Of Drinking At Somebody Else's Expense