Just Girt Me For The Onset With

Angels In The Early Morning May Be Seen The Dews Among. Stooping, Plucking, Smiling, Flying. Do The Buds To Them Belong?

The Pleading Of The Summer - That Other Prank - Of Snow - That Cushions Mystery With Tulle, For Fear The Squirrels - Know.

As Summer Into Autumn Slips And Yet We Sooner Say "the Summer" Than "the Autumn," Lest We Turn The Sun Away, And Almost Count It An Affront The Presence To Concede Of One However Lovely, Not The One That We Have Loved - So We Evade The Charge Of Years On One Attempting Shy The Circumvention Of The Shaft Of Life's Declivity.

We Dream — It Is Good We Are Dreaming — It Would Hurt Us — Were We Awake — But Since It Is Playing — Kill Us, And We Are Playing — Shriek — What Harm? Men Die — Externally — It Is A Truth — Of Blood — But We — Are Dying In Drama — And Drama — Is Never Dead — Cautious — We Jar Each Other — And Either — Open The Eyes — Lest The Phantasm — Prove The Mistake — And The Livid Surprise Cool Us To Shafts Of Granite — With Just An Age — And Name — And Perhaps A Phrase In Egyptian — It's Prudenter — To Dream —

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior — For Doors.