I Feel It Gone, Yet Know Not

I Say There Is No Darkness But Ignorance.

Therefore The Moon, The Governess Of Floods, Pale In Her Anger Washes All The Air, That Rheumatic Diseases Do Abound; And Through This Distemperature We See The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

How Lush And Lusty The Grass Looks! How Green!

An Two Men Ride Of A Horse, One Must Ride Behind.

Not An Angel Of The Air, Bird Melodious Or Bird Fair, Be Absent Hence!