The Grandeur Of The Dooms We Have

Do You Not See How Necessary A World Of Pains And Troubles Is To School An Intelligence And Make It A Soul?

To Feel Forever Its Soft Fall And Swell, Awake For Ever In A Sweet Unrest, Still, Still To Hear Her Tender-taken Breath, And So Live Ever-or Else Swoon In Death.

Already With Thee! Tender Is The Night. . . But Here There Is No Light. . .

The Days Of Peace And Slumberous Calm Are Fled.

I Do Think Better Of Womankind Than To Suppose They Care Whether Mister John Keats Five Feet High Likes Them Or Not.