I Wish To Believe In Immortality-i Wish

There's A Blush For Won't, And A Blush For Shan't, And A Blush For Having Done It: There's A Blush For Thought And A Blush For Naught, And A Blush For Just Begun It.

Who Hath Not Seen Thee Oft Amid Thy Store? Sometimes Whoever Seeks Abroad May Find Thee Sitting Careless On A Granary Floor, Thy Hair Soft-lifted By The Winnowing Wind; Or On A Half-reap'd Furrow Sound Asleep, Drows'd With The Fume Of Poppies, While Thy Hook Spares The Next Swath And All Its Twined Flowers.

I Should Write For The Mere Yearning And Fondness I Have For The Beautiful, Even If My Night's Labors Should Be Burnt Every Morning And No Eye Shine Upon Them.

You Are Always New To Me.

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter; Therefore, Ye Soft Pipes, Play On; Not To The Sensual Ear, But, More Endear'd, Pipe To The Spirit Ditties Of No Tone.